A Pale Hope Rises
by arwenraven
Summary: The final battle is over and there is nothing left. At his death Harry is taken into another world, into another war, but it is not him that the burden of this world rests upon. He is given a chance to live again, to have a family while at the same time bringing hope for those who must fight, and perhaps he may yet make the difference in this war. NO SLASH
1. Prologue

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Prologue**

Harry watched as the form of Lord Voldemort crumpled to the ground, the light finally leaving the red eyes that had seen and commanded so much pain and cruelty. Voldemort was dead, his task was done but Harry couldn't find any happiness within him, any will to celebrate.

Around him death and destruction littered the hallways of what had once been a proud castle, now nothing more than a smoking ruin and a memory, the victim of Voldemort's last great assault. Here and there bodies lay strewn amongst the rubble, friend and foe lying side by side where they had fallen. It was quiet now, too quiet. Even the wind had died and the bodies looked oddly peaceful as they lay there, broken and battered. A far cry from the mayhem that had gone before.

Hogwarts had held out until the bitter end. All the remaining fighters for the light side had gathered there, to plan the last desperate gamble in a war that had already lost so many. Ron had been lost finding the last horcrux, Remus when trying to smuggle muggleborns out of the country, Kingsley, Tonks and Arthur when the Ministry had fallen, Flitwick and McGonagall in the Hogsmede Ambush. More had been lost, more than they could count as one by one the Ministry, Diagon Alley and Hogsmede fell to the Death Eaters until Hogwarts had been the last sanctuary left standing.

And it had been there that the final battle had been fought between the torn remnants of Dumbledore's Army, some not even seventeen, some yet to fight in a battle and the full strength of the Death Eaters, their ranks swelled with new recruits some willing and some unwilling. It had been their first and their last for both sides.

So many lay dead as Harry stumbled through the ruins looking for the faces of his friends. He couldn't cope with the silence. Where were the curses, the screams, the cries as friends fell down beside friends, the screams and moans of the dying and injured? There was nothing left but the blood, the bodies, and the smoke drifting lazily from the ruins of a destroyed castle.

They had won, the gamble had paid off but there was nothing left in Harry but hollow emptiness. He saw it again in his mind's eye, as Ginny went down under a hail of spell fire, caught off guard by speeding emerald death, as Neville finished off Bellatrix only for her last spell to catch him in the back as he turned, responding to another threat, Hermione being overwhelmed finally as the battle was almost over by a team of fifteen death eaters.

He was the last one left and he was dying. He had killed Voldemort but the poison in his wounds was taking its toll. He would be dead before an hour was up.

Harry staggered out through the ruined doors and into the sunlight. Even the wind was still, almost mourning as the pale light of day illuminated the horizon. It seemed so strange that the sun could be rising when all his friends lay dead behind him, and he was going to join them. How could there still be beauty in the world? How could there still be life and laughter? He couldn't understand it, and he watched through steadily darkening eyes as the soft rays stole over the blackened and burned lawn, slipping over bodies quietly, almost like a quilt.

It was easy to think that so many of the bodies that lay here were just sleeping, that when the light touched them they would stretch lazily and wake, blinking, into a world that had been all but destroyed. But Harry knew better. He knew that none who lay here would ever rise again, would clamber to their feet and laugh and live. The Killing Curse left no marks.

He let out of moan of pain and fell to his knees, the pain of their loss and his injuries breaking through. He was bleeding he realised idly. There were almost a hundred lacerations and wounds stretching across his torso and he could feel that the bones in his wrist were broken even as the reek of dark magic clung to his chest and his wand arm.

He had killed Voldemort but not before the man had had his fun.

He had cornered Harry in the Great Hall. They had been long since forced from their defensive positions in the fighting and Harry had been alone in the Great Hall, fighting his way through the Death Eaters, a single DA member at the back. Voldemort had had him precisely where he wanted him. It had been Zacharius that had taken the first spell, the spell meant for Harry. He had always been the weak link in the DA, the one who would complain and not follow orders but that single act of sacrifice, to try to give Harry time to end him, had spoken more about his courage than any of his previous actions.

It hadn't worked and Harry refused to think about the torture that followed. It had passed and there was nothing left now, even the pain was fading as the world grew darker and darker. The poison was what had helped him in the end. He had refused to give in, to die when he was the only one that could end it, end the pain, the suffering, the murder, the terror, the darkness and if he didn't no-one could. It had given him strength, to do what he had to, to win the final duel.

But that strength was gone now.

Through lidded eyes, Harry Potter stared out at the rising sunrise as the slow acting venom he had been infected with a scant few hours earlier slipped slowly through his system, poisoning him from the inside out and he slid gladly into darkness as the war against Voldemort claimed its last and final victim.

* * *

Welcome to all those who are reading this. It is my first attempt at a crossover and I hope you all enjoy it. Just to explain in middle earth, it will be a mix of book and movie verse so I'd appreciate it if people don't try and hold me to rigorous standards for either as I intend to chop and change to find what suits this story best.

Anyway, that said, please enjoy and review and the next chapter should be up later today and after that expect weekly updates!


	2. Chapter 1

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling respectively, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 1**

The darkness was comforting, there was no pain in the darkness and it was peaceful. For the first time in eighteen years Harry Potter felt completely and utterly at peace, here there was no more war, no more pain, no more suffering, just peace as he drifted aimlessly in the dark, and all sense of time and place ceased to have any meaning.

But among the peace that surrounded him a loneliness began to grow inside him and alongside that loneliness a fear. He was dead, he knew he was dead but why was he alone? Where were his friends, his family, everyone who had died before him, wouldn't they be waiting or had they abandoned him? Or perhaps this was to be his punishment, his punishment for not ending the war sooner, for letting his friends die and sacrifice themselves for him when he should have been the only one to die, the only one to perish. They had been fighting for him, they had been led by him and he had betrayed their hope and led them to their deaths.

For the war was his fault. If he had never been born his parents, and all those who had died fighting in the second wizarding war would be alive, he had killed them and that was why there was no one waiting; that was why he was alone. He was a killer and a murderer and he deserved the loneliness, he deserved to drift aimlessly in the dark for the rest of eternity always knowing that it was his fault his friends had died, his actions which had caused them to perish.

He deserved worse than the loneliness, he deserved to suffer, he didn't deserve the peace he had found himself in. And as if in answer to his thought he felt pain begin to flood back into his body and he let it. It was nothing less than he deserved. He deserved to suffer ever day for the rest of eternity for the innocent blood staining his hands.

The pain was flooding back now, sharp and cruel as it burned through his veins and Harry bit his lip to keep from screaming. He was not going to make a sound, he would suffer this torment for eternity in complete silence as his own tribute to the people that had given their lives for him. He owed them that much at least.

But it wasn't just pain that was coming back to him, other sensations were beginning to crowd in on his awareness. The cool breath of wind on his face, a chill in the air, the hard pressure of a rocky ground beneath his head, the stickiness of blood and tears against his eyelids and the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. These sensations crowded into his mind, forcing back some of the guilt as his body forced him to acknowledge them even as he became aware of a gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach and the burn of thirst in the back of his throat.

It confused him, his mind couldn't make sense of the information he was being given. He was dead, and as such he could not be thirsty or hungry but why then was his body crying out for sustenance? He was dead, he knew he was, the poison he had been given was fatal, it killed in five hours and there was no antidote. He could not have survived yet he was slowly becoming aware of the harsh breaths that rattled up from his chest and the steady beat of his heart.

He forced his eyelids up, a gasp of pain hissing out from between his teeth as the action jerked away the crusts of dried blood covering them. Almost instantly he closed them once more as a bright light assailed his pupils, almost blinding after the darkness. He waited until the throbbing in his head had subsided a little before he cautiously opened his eyelids once again.

The light was still there but its glare had receded a little, allowing him to make out the appearance of a tall white figure dressed in flowing robes standing in front of him. Harry pushed himself to get up, this being had to be a divinity of some sort and the few times he had been to church growing up told him that he should kneel but no sooner had he started to move than a slim hand reached out and gently pushed him back to the ground.

"Lie still child," a soft musical voice said, "Even though we removed the poison you are still badly injured."

Harry blinked in confusion, he was dead so how could he be injured, it just wasn't possible and he was not a child either. A clear laugh, bell like, rang out and Harry's confusion grew, even though the sound relaxed him. There was so much kindness in the sound and the voice, even though he knew it was not what he deserved he couldn't help be comforted by it.

"Child you are no longer dead," the voice explained softly, answering the unspoken question running through Harry's mind. "You are in Middle Earth."

Harry opened his mouth to ask a question but his voice rasped in his throat, sending pain flashing across it. "Hush child," the voice ordered gently, concern tinting it at the edges, "Do not hurt yourself further, let me tell you what you need to know." Harry blinked in acknowledgement, secure in the knowledge that this at least was a pain free response.

Apparently satisfied with that the melodious voice continued, "You have been brought here to be hope in the coming war, and to have a second chance."

At those words Harry's mind retreated inwards. He couldn't do it again, he couldn't be the saviour, he couldn't be the one in who's hands the fate of the world rested, he would fail again, he would hurt people and he was tired of war, tired of struggling day by day to survive. He couldn't do it again; they couldn't ask that of him, anything other than that.

"No child," the voice broke into his panic, "You misunderstood, the burden of this war will not be on your shoulders - that is a destiny for others to fulfil. You are to be their hope, to show them that darkness is not all consuming and that there is still light left in the heavens. You will not even have to fight if you do not wish to."

Harry let his panic ebb away with those words, he didn't have to fight if he did not wish to, he did not have the weight of another world on his shoulder but the figure was not done yet, "And you have a second chance for a family and a childhood, to be protected and cherished as you should have been."

Harry's eyes widened at that, he couldn't have a family, he was a freak and he'd hurt them and then the line about a childhood hit him and his face betrayed his confusion, he was eighteen, an adult so how could he have a childhood?

"To bring you to this realm and cope with the poison in your blood we had to change you. You have elven blood now and we have given you understanding of elvish. You age more slowly and live longer than a full human, growing one year for every three that pass as a child, and one for every five as an adult thus giving you your childhood."

Against the bright light Harry thought he saw them smile then they reached down and slipped something over his head before laying a hand on his forehead. "Be safe child, you have your magic to shield thee and our star to guide thee."

Before his eyes the figure started to vanish into the mists, "Wait," he called out desperately, his voice cracking and pain flaring up in his throat as he forced the words out, "Don't leave me."

The figure didn't pause but Harry heard the voice ring clear in his mind, "We will always watch over you." And then the figure was gone, their form lost in the mists.

* * *

Very slowly Harry pushed himself up, biting his lip against the pain, his eyes searching the surroundings. He was in the wilderness, trees and scrub clinging onto exposed rock with not a single sign of any living person for miles and his stomach ached with hunger and thirst. Gingerly he clambered to his feet, keeping his broken wrist clutched tightly to his chest, swaying a little as the pain from his wounds assaulted him and struggling with the tattered remnants of wizard robes which were now far too large.

He could hear the slight bubbling of a brook nearby and he forced his feet to move forward, the years of labouring in his relative's garden no matter what injuries he had sustained giving him the sheer will to remain on his feet and slowly he made his way to the brook.

Greedily he reached down and scooped handful after handful of cool clear water up with his good hand, letting the water sooth his aching throat, and splash gently down across his wounds, providing momentary relief from the pain. It was only when he had satisfied his thirst that he got his first look at his own reflection.

A child, no more than five or six years old stared back at him. Black hair matted with dried blood, and ugly gashes, raw red and some bleeding were littered across his face, hands and body. Bright green eyes, his mother's eyes stared back at him, their brilliance slightly dulled with pain and fear, and the tattered black cloth that had once been robes but was now little more than rags hung over his frame, swamping the slight form but still unable to hide the unnatural thinness. A necklace that he didn't recognise hung round his throat, shimmering in the reflection.

He glanced down, his fingers going to the single charm hanging off it. It was shaped like a star, glowing faintly with some inner light and despite the cool, polished surface of what was almost a gem he thought he could feel a slight warmth radiating from it. It made him feel slightly better, he might be in what appeared to be the wilderness, in a strange world but he wasn't completely alone and whatever beings had left him here hadn't abandoned him completely he hoped.

But that slight hope vanished as quickly as it had come as the reality of his situation dawned on him. He was alone, a defenceless child in the middle of the wilderness, with no shelter, no way to find food and he was injured. He wouldn't be able to make a shelter, he was too small, and he could feel that his magic was tired from the fight with Voldemort, even a first year spell would be too much for him and night was beginning to fall.

He shivered, pulling his rags closer around him in a futile attempt to keep warm. Why did he have to be here, why did he have to be alone again, thrown into a strange world where he knew nothing and nobody? Part of his mind told him that he deserved it as he curled up into a ball, being careful not to hurt himself further but a larger part of him felt nothing more than the fear and loneliness and quietly he started to sob, the child he now was unable to keep the tears at bay.

He cried until he had no tears left. By now night had fallen and the first pricks of stars had appeared in the sky. Harry shivered more violently, biting his lip to prevent the hisses of pain from escaping as the movement aggravated his injuries. But suddenly he heard a sound that froze him instantly. Even though he was but a child and in a world completely different from his own his ears could still recognise in an instant the distinctive sound of a person walking lightly through undergrowth.

* * *

**AN** And there we have it, I did promise you an update today after all. Please do review and tell me what you think, the reviews I have already received have been very encouraging, thanks to everyone who has taken the time to do so. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, see you in a week and please review!


	3. Chapter 2

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 2**

Harry pressed up against the back of a nearby tree, his heart pumping furiously. He knew that he was helpless, there was nothing he could do as the person came closer and closer. He couldn't defend himself, his magic was all but used up and he had no weapons to fight with and he didn't want to be hurt again. He bit his lip as hard as he could to stop any sound escaping but he couldn't disguise the harsh breaths that hissed out between his teeth.

A flickering light shone through the trees as the footsteps came closer and closer and he curled up into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible, hoping that whoever was coming would not notice him, but at the same time hoping that they would because anything would be better than slowly starving to death in this wilderness.

The light got closer and Harry could make out the outline of a torch even as he heard the footsteps falter slightly, before dropping into a slow, cautious pace. A steely hiss reached his ears, and Harry curled himself tighter, ignoring the screaming pain of the thousand cuts that littered his body, something deep in his mind recognising the sound as a threat as against his will a small whimper slipped out from between clenched lips.

The footsteps stopped abruptly and then sped up so before he had time to register that something had changed a figure had entered the clearing. Peeking through his fingers Harry could see that it was a man, tall, clad in black and grey, his clothing worn, a bow and quiver accompanied by a brace of rabbits hung across his back and a torch in his hand but Harry's eyes were drawn instantly to the long, glittering blade he held comfortably in his right hand, his ease speaking of a high skill with the weapon.

The man stepped forward, his posture wary but as he got closer his eyes widened and Harry heard the soft exclamation, "A child?" There was the sound of steel on wool, and a curious thud and Harry raised his eyes cautiously to see that the man had sheathed his sword and that the torch had been thrust into a patch of wet earth. He relaxed slightly upon seeing the weapon sheathed but he knew it could be drawn again in a heartbeat and his panic returned full force as the man came closer.

Instinctively he raised his arms to shield himself from the blow he was expecting. His wrist flared in agony at the sudden movement but he ignored the pain, his instincts screaming louder, reacting to the proximity of a man so close to him when he was this helpless. His childhood had taught him that such an action resulted in nothing but pain.

The man had frozen the instant Harry had moved and Harry had clearly heard the muttered oath but what happened next caught him by surprise. Instead of a blow the man started to murmur, his tone comforting and soothing but the words unrecognisable and unfamiliar. Confused, Harry raised his head slightly, still unwilling to lower his arms but he could now look into the man's eyes. Bitter experience had taught him that a person's tone, words and even their facial expressions could not be trusted but their eyes would not lie.

To his complete shock the blue eyes showed nothing but concern and sorrow. The surprise was enough to make Harry lower his arms and slowly the man started to move forward again until he was crouched in front of Harry, the murmured words never ceasing but although the tone was soft the words were too unfamiliar to provide comfort. Harry didn't move, although his green eyes continued to watch the man warily, constantly flicking up to the man's eyes for reassurance but he was too tired to run, even if this man changed his mind and hurt him.

With that thought his body sagged and he saw the concern in the man's eyes grow as he slowly reached out a hand, keeping it within Harry's sight at all times and gently touched Harry on the cheek. Immediately his body tensed, sending a wave of agony flooding through him and he couldn't stop the moan of pain that escaped him, even as he clutched his broken wrist closer to his chest.

The man's eyes focussed on his hand the instant he moved and Harry heard his sharp intake of breath then gentle fingers caught the wrist, cradling it in his palm as skilful fingers probed the wound, careful not to cause any further pain. Harry let out the breath he had been holding and pushed down the urge to struggle when he realised that the man was not hurting him further and he watched through dropping eyelids as the man tore a strip of cloth from a trailing edge of the robes and carefully bandaged the wrist, giving it some support before returning it gently to its resting place on Harry's chest.

Then the man's voice, which had been murmuring quietly as the man had dressed his wrist changed, taking on a more questioning tone. Harry just stared at him blankly, the unfamiliar words made no sense and he was too tired to even try to attempt to figure out any kind of meaning. The man's brow furrowed as he realised Harry had no understanding of the words being spoken then he stretched out his arms, the expression on his face questioning.

Harry froze as the meaning suddenly became clear, panic washing over him for a brief moment and his eyes sought the stranger's and seeing nothing but concern there he remembered the gentleness with which the man had treated his wrist and he nodded. It was a short jerky movement but Harry saw the relief flash across the man's features.

And then he felt strong arms encircle him and lift him up. He tensed at first but as he was settled comfortably on the man's hip, an arm wrapping around him securely, pressing his body against a warm chest he felt himself relax. It was strange but he felt more secure there than he could remember being at any point during his childhood and that scared him. He didn't know why he was feeling that way and he was scared that all to soon it was be swept away to be replaced by pain.

Unwilling to face the fears swimming in his head Harry buried his face in the rough wool of the man's cloak and closed his eyes, willing the tiredness that filled his limbs to let him sleep. In response he felt the man's grip tighten and a deep voice started to sing softly but the moment he started Harry's eyes snapped open and he raised his head slightly to look at the man's face. Because this time he had understood the words.

The singing broke off abruptly. "Little one can you understand me?" The man asked him quietly and Harry nodded against the fabric. He felt rather than saw the man's relieved sigh.

"It's alright child, you're safe now," the man told him softly, "I won't hurt you." Harry just looked at him, disbelief in his emerald eyes. He had heard those words before and he had always ended up hurt anyway. The man saw the expression but he didn't dwell on it.

"Where are your parents?" He asked next, his voice still soothing and gentle.

"Dead," the reply was almost inaudible, "They died...long ago." The man looked at him sadness and sympathy mixed in his gaze, almost as if he had been expecting the answer.

"Who hurt you?" was the next question and Harry tensed slightly, wondering if the man wanted to give him back to them but his next words dispelled that thought, "I want to ensure they can't hurt you again."

"Dead," Harry whispered, "They're all dead. They can't hurt anyone anymore." He felt the man let out a breath, before his arms tightened slightly.

"Good."

The silence started to lengthen and Harry turned his face back into the fabric, closing his eyes and letting himself drift towards sleep. He couldn't be sure he was safe yet but the man hadn't hurt him yet and he had actually looked after him. Surely if he had wanted to hurt him, he would already have been hurt, and wouldn't be being carried securely.

He had almost slipped into sleep when the next question woke him slightly, "What's your name little one?" Harry bit his lip not knowing how to answer. He wasn't Harry anymore, and he didn't want to be. He didn't want to be Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, didn't want the weight of the world on his shoulders, he wanted to forget, to forget the pain and the loss and the tears. It made his reply easy.

"Don't have one." He whispered.

The slight faltering of the man's footsteps and what seemed to be an oath in a language that he didn't recognise were the only signs the man had heard him because when he spoke again his voice was calm. "Well we can't have that can we," he said quietly but it seemed to Harry like he was forcing himself to keep his voice light, "A name is incredibly important and everyone needs one, it's what tells us who we are, so we are going to have to find you one."

Harry just blinked slowly, too tired to do anything that required any more energy. He hadn't eaten or slept in he didn't know how long and the pain of his wounds was becoming too much. He knew that there was no way that the man would continue to care for him for long, he would leave him as soon as he realised that he was a burden, freak and a murderer but at the moment he was being cared for and he would take it for as long as it lasted.

Just as he was about to slip into sleep a question occurred to him, "Who are you?" he slurred out sleepily.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the soft reply came back to his ears, "But in these parts I'm known as Strider."

"Thank you Aragorn," Harry whispered, knowing he needed to thank the man, Aragorn who had rescued him but if he received an answer he didn't hear it because between that breath and the next he fell into the comforting oblivion of sleep.

* * *

The sudden noise of voices broke Harry out of sleep and he flinched, his eyes darting around as he looked for the source of the sound. Fear welled up in him as he desperately tried to see where the threat was and he started struggling against the arms holding him, all his instincts screaming at him to run and hide. But the arms were far stronger than he was and he was weak from lack of food and the wounds littering his body.

No more than a minute had passed before he slumped in the man's, Aragorn's arms, pain hitting him in a sudden wave as his injuries shrieked in protest at his sudden movement. It was then that the words being spoken to him began to penetrate, "It's alright little one, you're safe, they won't hurt you, they're travelling with me. None of us will hurt you."

Warily he raised his eyes - comforted a little by the words even as he realised that the voices had cut off - to see four figures looking at him. They were small, probably not much taller than he was, with curly hair, round faces and laughing eyes and Harry relaxed a little as he realised that they looked like they wouldn't hurt a fly, much less him. But that didn't stop him from being wary and he shrunk back slightly when he saw that they were all staring at him.

Aragorn glanced down and saw the fear in his face, "They're hobbits," he told him in elvish, "That's Pippin, Merry, Sam and Frodo."

He pointed at each hobbit in turn as he spoke their names and each hobbit smiled at him before the black haired one, Frodo Harry told himself, turned to Aragorn and said something in the unfamiliar language the tone questioning to which the man replied. Frodo nodded his expression unsettled and another hobbit, Sam this time, spoke and Aragorn nodded, handing either Pippin or Merry the torch before reaching over his shoulder with his free hand and handing the brace of rabbits to the hobbit who nodded his thanks and headed over to a fire where a black pot was already boiling, beckoning Merry, Harry thought it was, to come and help as he busied himself over the fire.

Aragorn started to turn back towards him, then he paused and turned back to one of the hobbits. He asked a quick question in the unfamiliar language and Pippin turned to look at him before he nodded and turned to rummage in one of the packs. Harry tried to see what he was doing, worried that it was something to do with him but his attention was drawn away as Aragorn turned to him once more.

"I need to look at the rest of your wounds, and splint and set your wrist properly," he told him gently, "It will hurt and there's nothing I can do about that but it needs to be done if it is going to heal properly. I'll be as quick as possible."

Harry nodded jerkily, fear pooling in his eyes but he had had enough injuries to know it hurt worse if it wasn't set and that setting it would be over soon. A small smile touched the man's lips before he sat down, placing Harry so that he was sitting in his lap, his broken wrist held out in front of him. For several moments cool fingers probed the break, examining it fully before the man sighed, a relieved smile breaking out across his face.

"You're lucky little one," he said, "The break is clean so it will heal quickly and easily but once I have splinted it you can't scratch it, play with the splint or move the wrist for at least two weeks." Harry nodded to show that he understood; clenching his teeth and turning his head away in preparation for the pain, wishing it were over.

There was a sudden flare of agony in his wrist and he couldn't stop himself from crying out, tears pouring down his face but in the next second it was over and he felt his wrist being bound up tightly, a pair of rough wooden rods at either side, holding the wrist firmly in place.

He hiccupped, trying to stop the tears and he felt a large hand rub his back soothingly, "Shh little one, it's over, you've done very well." Aragorn's deep voice reassured him. "Will you let me look at the rest of your wounds?" He asked once he was sure that the child's tears had slowed. "Little one, I want to help you, not hurt you further."

Harry hesitated, considering. He hurt all over and he wanted the pain to go away but he couldn't prevent the fear that rose up in him. Sometimes his uncle had pretended to help him but had only made him hurt more and he didn't think he could take it hurting any more, but a small voice in the back of his mind whispered, he set your wrist and didn't hurt you doing that and he could have made it so much worse. If he didn't let him look at them, the pain would just get worse but if he let him there was a chance it would go away, and he had said that he wanted to help.

Harry couldn't quite believe him, nobody, with the exception of Ron and Hermione had ever wanted to help him, just him and not Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived and far more had wanted to hurt him. But so far, the only things Aragorn had done were to try and help him, so perhaps there was a small chance he was telling the truth, even if it was only at the moment.

Biting his lip he nodded slowly and Aragorn smiled at him reassuringly before reaching for a bowl of water and a rag, along with a pile of cloth that Harry assumed were bandages. Quietly he instructed him to turn around before he carefully removed the robe. Harry clamped his lips shut, determined not to cry out again, but he couldn't stop a small whimper from escaping as the robe tugged on the scabs covering his back.

And then the robe was free and warm water splashed against his back, cleaning the cuts and lacerations. It stung when it entered the cuts but the water felt nice against his back as slowly the dried blood was washed away and the cuts were cleaned. A few moments later strong hands gently turned him around and Aragorn carefully bathed the wounds on his front and arms. Harry glanced up and his breath caught in his chest as he saw that Aragorn's expression was dark but the man's eyes were kind as he cleaned and bandaged the wounds.

It was then that Harry learnt what Pippin had been looking for as he was helped into a slightly worn shirt and pair of trousers. They hung loosely from his thin frame and they had to be rolled up but they were far warmer than the robes that had been little more than rags. "Thank you," he whispered, tugging at the new clothes a little self-consciously. They were nice but they weren't his and he was acutely aware that he was being a burden but Aragorn just smiled at him and when Harry made to thank Pippin, the hobbit just grinned back at him, before speaking. Harry fidgeted a little, aware he was supposed to reply but unable to get even the merest sense of the words.

Aragorn smiled slightly at his expression then he said something, a little sharply, to Pippin and the hobbit looked abashed for a moment before the grin returned to his face and he hurried over to the fire. Harry was suddenly aware of the smell of rabbit stew that permeated the clearing and he realised he was ravenous. His stomach growled and he blushed. They had already been so kind to him, it would be more than he deserved if they gave him food as well.

He had hardly had time to complete that thought when he found himself being picked up once again and carried over to the fire and set down on the ground. He felt his blush deepen, "I can walk," he said softly. He might be six now but that didn't mean he was incapable of walking.

"I know you can," Aragorn replied a touch sternly, "But you have no shoes and I don't want you walking and cutting your feet open on sharp rocks and then getting those cuts infected. The wilds are no place to be without shoes, child or otherwise," he followed Harry's gaze to the barefooted hobbits, "Unless you are a hobbit," he added, a touch of humour in his voice, "And I know you are most certainly not one."

All talking ceased then as Sam ladled out plates of stew which he passed round. Harry's eyes widened as a shallow wooden bowl and spoon were pressed into his hands and he looked down at the steaming meal and back up to Aragorn, his eyes clearly asking whether it was meant for him. Aragorn nodded encouragingly and Harry took a mouthful. When nobody moved to take the bowl away from him, he took another and another, eating as quickly as he could.

Soon the bowl was empty and for the first time in a very long time he felt full. It was getting late, the stars shone in the sky and the fire crackled, sending out waves of warmth. The combination of his first proper meal in what must have been weeks if not months, the comforting warmth of the fire and the soft voices talking in an unfamiliar language were lulling him towards sleep.

The last thing he was aware of before sleep claimed him was someone lifting him from the ground and wrapping him securely in blankets.

* * *

**AN: **And there's the next update. Hope you all enjoyed it and I have been absolutely blown away by the response I've received from you lot for the first chapters of this story - its the best I've ever had on a story, so this update is a little earlier than planned.

Please keep reviewing, they mean a lot to me and thanks to all those who have.


	4. Chapter 3

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 3**

Aragorn's face was troubled as he sat back down by the fire, his eyes straying to the small form that was curled in on itself protectively in the blankets. He had seen a lot of cruelty in the years he had walked through Middle Earth and fought in its wars, and he had seen many strange things when wandering in the wilds but finding a child in the middle of the wilds had shocked even him.

And then the wounds the child had. He had seen and healed victims of torture before and the wounds he had seen on the child had screamed out at him. The child had been tortured, but not only that, the child had been tortured for a long time, his body was a mess of scars, some old some newer and then there were small things, the way he tensed at sudden movements, the way he had devoured the food as if he was starving and then the simple fact that he had no name, or no name he knew.

It was easy enough to put the pieces together, the child had been captured when he was very young, presumably by goblins or orcs, but perhaps a band of bandits and his parents had been killed but he had been kept by whoever had captured them, probably for entertainment as he knew that goblin packs often played with their victims before killing them. Then something had killed his captors, and he had managed to escape but he had been alone in the wilds and judging by the rags he had been wearing and way he had eaten he had been fending for himself for a while.

The story fitted the evidence but there were still some pieces that puzzled him. How had the child learnt elvish for one? No elf would have been responsible for the treatment the child had received, and if they had found him they would have cared for him, elflings were so rare that children, be they elf or human were fussed over, his childhood in Rivendell springing immediately to mind. And he was sure that the child was not an elfling and had therefore always spoken the language, for the boy's ears were not pointed. But it was equally obvious the child was not from the area, there hadn't even been the most basic form of recognition when he had spoken the common tongue.

He set the thought aside. It didn't matter where the child had come from, Aragorn had no intention of leaving him here, no child would survive for long in the wilds, particularly one who had been hurt. The child would come with them to Rivendell, he knew that he would be safe amongst the elves and he would be able to heal fully there, he was certain that the boy had experienced things no child should have. He frowned inwardly as he remembered how light the child was, and he knew that even at the pace he was setting he would be easy to carry.

Merry's voice broke him out of his thoughts, "The last thing I expected to find out here was a child of the Big People."

"So far it's been midges, midges, midges, no second breakfast and a good deal of climbing," Pippin put in with a grumble, "Old Bilbo said nothing about that side of things when he was describing his adventures."

"Not to mention barrow wights and Black Riders," Sam said with a shiver, "I hadn't realised there was quite as many bad things out there as there are if you get my meaning."

His statement was greeted with a round of nods from the hobbits. "But it is strange," Frodo mused, "To see a child so far out here particularly one that speaks elvish and that is so badly hurt."

There were varying exclamations of, "Oh so that's what it was!" and he saw Merry dig Pippin in the ribs,

"And this one here was yabbering on when it was clear that he couldn't understand a word!"

Pippin pulled a face at him, "And how was I supposed to know that he didn't speak the common tongue? Perhaps he lives out here in the wilds, a ranger like Strider. Do they have child rangers?" There was a burst of laughter from the hobbits and then the conversation drifted to other matters, concerning pipe-weed and the shire but Pippin had unknowingly provided him with another angle of thought.

Was it possible that the child was a Dúnedain child? It would explain why he spoke exclusively elvish as certain families with close links to the elves tended not to start teaching their children the common tongue until they started to learn the sword and bow at twenty summers, but he would have known if any of the rangers or their families had been captured and killed any time in the last fifteen years for the child didn't look older than five, and while he had lost friends he had not been aware that any children or women had been lost.

He laid the line of enquiry to the side. He did not have enough information to find answers and there was no use in puzzling over the information he had when they were still so far from Rivendell, with the One Ring in the wilderness and the Nazgul had already come too close. "I will take the first and fourth watch," he told them and he heard the hobbits groan but they all immediately hurried to the packs and began to extract their bedrolls, "Frodo and Pippin the second, and Sam and Merry the third." The named hobbits nodded, grimaces on their faces but they all knew the necessity of these actions and before long the clearing was filled with the deep regular breathing of sleepers as Aragorn settled on a log, his sword ready in his hand as he started the first watch of the night.

* * *

The dawn light was pale in the east when Harry was awoken by the light touch of a hand on his shoulder. He immediately jerked upright, his eyes searching for the threat and his hand reaching for a wand that was no longer there. His heart calmed a little as the face of Aragorn came into view above him and the events of the previous day rose in his mind. Voldemort was dead, he was in Middle Earth now as a part elven child and it had been Aragorn who had found him and treated his wounds. Reassured that he was safe for the time being at least he relaxed as much as he was able.

No more than half an hour later the overnight camp had been packed up, the remains of the fire covered in earth and they had all eaten a simple breakfast of a form of flat bread, an apple and a couple of strips of dried meat. The hobbits, Pippin especially, had looked at the food in resignation and a bit of disgust but Harry had wolfed his down, just relieved that he had been given food again, uncaring of taste and texture, not to mention the years growing up at Privet Drive and the year he had spent searching for the horcruxes had conditioned him to the point he was able to eat virtually anything.

Now nearly an hour later he was being carried comfortably, his head resting on Aragorn's shoulder as the hobbits took turns suggesting names. Having learnt the previous night that he didn't have a name they were all enjoying suggesting names as they tramped through the wild and slowly Harry found himself beginning to relax around them.

"Maddoc,"

"Isengrin,"

"Falco,"

Harry shook his head at each, a giggle forcing its way out of his throat as the list of names became longer and more outrageous, to his mind at least. Even Aragorn had chuckled once or twice at certain suggestions and Harry had been quick to refuse those, realising that if the man was laughing the names weren't just outrageous to him.

The hobbits continued to suggest names throughout the morning but as midday got closer and closer he could see that it was getting harder and harder for them to think of good names and the pauses between suggestions became longer and longer. It was in one such pause when Aragorn finally spoke, "Elion," he said quietly. Harry paused, of all the names that had been suggested this one was the first one that sounded like it might fit or be right.

He tilted his head as he considered it, running it through his mind and testing it out. It sounded right and he raised his eyes and nodded, a shy smile lighting his face. There was a whoop from one of the hobbits and a sudden round of clapping. He jumped slightly at the sudden noise but his mind quickly reclassified it as something non-threatening, and he relaxed against Aragorn's shoulder.

The hobbits had quickly stopped clapping when they had seen his reaction and now they grinned up at him. "Hello Elion," Frodo said slowly, his elvish a little halting in places but still true.

"Hello," Harry murmured back, twisting his fingers deeper into Aragorn's cloak. Despite the fact he was becoming more comfortable around them, he was still wary and that wariness was being translated into shyness but Frodo was not perturbed by his reluctance to talk and managed to easily fill the silence as he told him, in occasionally broken elvish, about the Shire, a wizard called Gandalf and fireworks. Sometimes one of the other hobbits would chip in with something which Frodo would painstakingly translate but while Harry was listening to the stories he was also watching.

Merry and Pippin seemed to be the jokers of the group, and as the day progressed he watched them compete with each other in a whole bewildering variety of games where he couldn't tell what the rules were or even who won and who lost and which only ended after a sharp word or sentence from Aragorn. Harry was reminded a little of Fred and George, jokers most of the time but people who could be serious and were loyal fighters if necessary.

He stopped that thought in his tracks. Unbidden Fred's death had risen in his mind, and the moment when he had heard of George's sacrifice. He could see it now, Fred being cut down by an acromantula and the dead look in George's eyes when he had volunteered to lead a mission to destroy the giant encampment, a suicide mission. The grief welled up and he had to bury his face in Aragorn's cloak as traitorous tears began to slip down his cheeks.

They're dead he reminded himself fiercely, they're dead and they are happy now, they can't be hurt anymore and they're all together. All of his friends were there, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, they were all safe and happy now, back with their families again and he had a new life now, a new name and he was in a new world, he couldn't keep thinking of them. They were gone and they'd never come back. But that didn't stop him from missing them.

You have no right, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered to him. No right to mourn them when they sacrificed themselves for you, when they would still be alive if they hadn't been your friends, if you hadn't led them to their deaths, if you hadn't been born. He pressed his face against the rough wool as the tears fell faster, not wanting anyone to see him weak, to see him cry but also with the small but vocal part of him telling him that it was wrong for him to be crying, to be mourning as the reality of their deaths and his new life slowly sunk in.

It was only the shaking of his shoulders and the growing dampness of Aragorn's cloak that gave him away; he had learnt early on how to cry without making a sound and although their pace didn't slow Harry felt a hand rub his back soothingly and the arms holding him tightened as he continued to cry until eventually the tears ceased and he raised his head from its hiding place.

"Are you alright?" Frodo asked quietly, clearly seeing the tear tracks that marked his face. Harry just nodded in answer,

"Are your wounds bothering you?" Aragorn asked him next, a hint of concern in his voice and he shook his head before realising that the man couldn't see the movement.

"No," He whispered. It was only partially a lie, his wrist still ached dreadfully and his cuts flared if he pressed something up against them but the pain was nothing compared to what it had been the previous day and he had known worse pain. It didn't stop it from hurting but he could deal with the pain, he could think around it and occasionally even forget it.

He could tell from the silence that had greeted his reply that Aragorn at least didn't fully believe him but he didn't press it and Frodo didn't either but Harry saw the quick glance that Aragorn shot at the hobbit that told him clearly to change the subject. He was grateful for it. He didn't want to be pressed on something which he wouldn't have an answer to, and he didn't want to have to answer questions when it still hurt too much, when it had happened so recently and nobody would believe him if he told them the truth.

They carried on walking silently as the afternoon was slowly but surely slipping towards evening and Harry resumed his previous activity of hobbit watching. Sam was the quietest out of all the hobbits, often walking with the pony and caring for it but Harry thought that he must have been a loyal friend to come with Frodo - for it was Frodo who was the clear leader of the hobbits - out into the wilderness.

But it was Aragorn all the hobbits deferred to. Harry didn't quite know what to make of Aragorn. The hobbits all deferred to him and he was the clear leader of the group, but he had seen the hobbits occasionally, and Sam especially, shot odd glances at him at times, almost as if they were a little wary of him. But on the other hand Aragorn had been nothing but kind towards him, he had not left him when he had found him, he had treated his wounds and was still carrying him securely.

Sam's glances should have made him wary, more wary than he already was but Harry couldn't manage to feel the same wariness he felt towards the hobbits towards Aragorn. Perhaps it had been because Aragorn had found him first, or perhaps because the man had cared for him in a way that he could not remember any adult ever doing but he felt safest with the man and that scared him slightly.

They stopped for the night just before dusk fell. He was almost asleep when strong hands disentangled his arms from where they were locked around Aragorn's neck and placed him gently on the ground. He had been awake since dawn and although he hadn't been walking the journey had tired him, particularly as they had not paused once the entire time they had been walking.

As soon as he was on the ground Harry promptly curled into a ball, feeling safest in that position and he watched through drooping eyelids as the hobbits bustled around unloading and tethering the pony and getting a fire started in a small hollow where the light would be shielded from prying eyes. He knew he should help, he was being nothing but a burden but when he tried to stand a firm hand was placed on his shoulder and stern blue eyes met his. "You are badly wounded Elion," Aragorn reprimanded him, his voice firm, "You are to rest until you are healed."

"I don't want to be a burden," Harry protested softly, unwilling to meet the ranger's eyes.

Something softened slightly in the man's gaze, "You won't be a burden little one," he was told quietly, "You are injured and it is your job to get better, we will look after you."

Harry couldn't quite bring himself to believe the words, he had been a burden all his life, that hadn't changed when he had come to middle earth but the rebuke was enough to stop him from trying to help, for some reason that he couldn't explain even to himself he didn't want to go against the man. Part of him said it was because Aragorn could easily leave him here when they went on tomorrow, and another because Aragorn had been so kind to him and he wanted to repay that kindness in the only way he was able to, by doing what he was told and staying out the way but he knew it was more than that even though he couldn't explain it.

Harry heard Aragorn say something to Frodo before the man turned and vanished into the gathering dusk. His eyes followed him and continued to watch for him, waiting for the man to reappear again but as the time stretched longer and longer worry rose in him, his breathing speeding up. What if Aragorn wasn't coming back? He didn't want to lose the first person to care for him in this new world, he had already lost far too many to want to lose people in this world too. Too many had died, too many had gone out and never come back, cut down by the Death Eaters and even though he knew that there were no Death Eaters he couldn't stop the fear that rose inside him, or suppress the voice that told him Aragorn had died.

Frodo noticed the way his eyes stared out into the trees and heard his harsh breaths, "He's just gone hunting Elion," the hobbit reassured him, "He does this every night and he'll be back soon." At his words Harry remembered that last night Aragorn had been carrying a couple of rabbits when he had found him and that memory relaxed him more than the words had done but it wasn't until the tall man stepped back into the circle of light provided by the fire that the tenseness fully left his body.

Aragorn handed the deer he had been carrying to the hobbits and quickly knives appeared as the hobbits started to work on butchering the carcass, even as Sam kept half an eye on the pot that was already simmering over the stove. Frodo said something to Aragorn and Harry saw the man straighten, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Elion?" He questioned softly, crouching in front of the child and resting his hand lightly on Harry's knee.

"Too many died," He said simply, but his voice betrayed him as it broke on the words. "I thought you'd died too."

He stiffened when Aragorn pulled him into his arms, wrapping him in a hug, unprepared for the contact and unsure of how to react but the ranger ignored his reaction, pulling him deeper into the embrace, murmuring words of comfort. Harry felt his body go limp, tension he hadn't realised he was carrying draining out of him. He had forgotten what it was like to be the one being comforted, for so long he had been on his own, the leader, the one doing the comforting.

He buried his face in Aragorn's chest, his fingers twisting into the man's tunic and let the man comfort him and slowly ease his fears. It didn't matter that it couldn't last, that one day the man would get bored and leave him behind because at the moment he was here for him, holding him tightly as he let go of a little of the burden on his shoulders. It was his fault that his friends had been killed but as Aragorn continued to whisper softly to him he could forget that and believe that maybe, someday he would be able to be loved.

A short while later he was released from the hug but the ranger made no move to remove the child from his lap. "I'm going to check your wounds to ensure they are healing as they ought. Elion, I need you to stay still while I do." Aragorn told him quietly. Harry just nodded although he flinched when cool fingers first touched the inflamed skin on his back but otherwise he didn't move a muscle whilst his wounds were examined and bandaged once more.

Supper came next and it wasn't long before Harry, his stomach full and his eyelids dropping, found himself cocooned in blankets fighting sleep, listening as the hobbits sang and told stories. He tried to stay awake but when Aragorn noticed that he was pinching himself to try and keep himself awake longer he came over and firmly, but still gently, took Harry's hand and tucked it back under the blankets. "Go to sleep Elion," he said, his tone firm, "You can listen to the stories as we walk."

Harry was about to protest but his body had other ideas as he yawned hugely and he heard Aragorn chuckle. "Go to sleep Little one."

Harry, Elion yawned and obediently snuggled deeper into the blankets as he surrendered to the welcome darkness.

* * *

**AN **And there's the next one. Thanks so much for all the support I've received, it is overwhelming, over a hundred reviews, 150+ favourites and 300+ alerts and thanks to everyone who has done one of those three things.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, expect the next one next Friday and please continue to review and support.


	5. Chapter 4

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 4**

It was just past midday when Aragorn paused. They had started off again just after dawn and most of the morning had been spent surrounded in laughter as the hobbits attempted to teach Elion the basics of the common tongue. Their attempts would have been for naught if Frodo hadn't been able to speak a little elvish and provide Elion with translations and giving him enough context to understand what the hobbits were trying to do.

But even as the 'lesson' had progressed more than a little haphazardly Elion had become aware that Aragorn was far more tense than he had been yesterday and there was an urgency in his movements that he had been lacking the previous day. He didn't speak as they walked, his eyes constantly scanning the trees surrounding them, the flicking down to the ground and back up almost as if he was waiting for an ambush.

By midday even the hobbits had picked up on the ranger's mood and the conversation and lesson had trailed off into silence as their unease grew. Unconsciously the hobbits were walking closer together, all their postures alert and tense. They crested a ridge and Elion suddenly became aware of the reason they were all so tense. Up on the skyline they were completely exposed, they would be able to be seen for miles around. While they had been in danger of ambush in the forest out in the open whoever was attacking or following them would easily be able to find them and pursue them.

Aragorn paused just before they reached the top, his eyes scanning the surroundings but after a moment his features settled, although his jaw was taut as he led them over the ridge and down the other side.

Nobody spoke as they hurried down off the ridge towards the ruins of a watchtower, nobody seemed to be keen to linger in the open. Elion saw the hobbits look searchingly at the ruins but their expressions were closed as the watchtower remained bleak and stark, whatever they were looking for was evidently not there. Occasionally Elion heard the name Gandalf whispered between the hobbits and he guessed that the wizard had something to do with whatever, or whoever they were looking for.

There was danger here. Elion could feel it and see it in the way Aragorn walked, in the silence, could see it in their expressions, expressions he was all too familiar with. He shivered, he didn't want to be fighting again and he knew how helpless he was and as a child he would be a liability in a fight rather than an asset. He didn't think he'd be able to cope if Aragorn or any of the hobbits got hurt trying to protect him.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the watchtower and he saw resignation grow on Aragorn's face as the man surveyed the surroundings and looked out over the expanse of bare rolling hills. They were vulnerable here but there was nowhere that would give them better shelter that they would be able to reach before night fell and Elion knew from bitter experience that it was all too easy to be attacked and surprised in the dark.

The reluctance in Aragorn's voice was obvious as he spoke to the hobbits before they moved from the ruins to a sheltered dell just beneath the ruins. It would give them more cover at night and they would still be able to retreat up to the ruins if they were attacked. There was a grim look in his eyes as he set Elion down on the ground and it was all Elion could do not to keep his hands tangled in the man's cloak to prevent him from going because he had seen that look before. It was the look worn by fighters when they knew they were going into a battle.

Aragorn spoke softly with Frodo for a minute then he turned back to Elion, crouching in front of him and resting a hand on the child's cheek, "I'm going to scout the area little one," he told him quietly, "I should be back later this evening."

Elion just gazed at him, emerald eyes wide and pleading, he knew that there was something he was not being told. He could see it in the set of the ranger's jaw and hear it in the man's voice but he could also tell that whatever it was they weren't going to tell him. He hesitated for a moment, knowing there was nothing he could say or do that would stop the ranger from going and that it might be more dangerous if he didn't go but eventually he blurted out, "Just come back."

He saw the shock in the man's eyes before Aragorn reached out and drew him into a brief hug. "I'll come back Elion," he murmured, "I promise." But he couldn't promise that, no-one could and as Aragorn stood and headed off into the gathering dusk it was that uncertainty that scared him.

The dusk fell into twilight and still Aragorn didn't return. Elion remained where the ranger had originally placed him, his eyes straining as they searched the darkness for any sign of the tall figure. There was danger out there, he had seen it in Aragorn's eyes when he had left but he didn't know how bad it was or what was happening. It made it nearly impossible for him to rationalise the situation and as the darkness grew it was easy for his fears to grow and magnify, what if, what if, what if...

A sudden cry from Frodo pulled him straight out of his fears and he jumped, turning sharply to see the hobbit breaking up a fire with his foot and admonishing the other hobbits. It showed him how lost in his fears he had been that he hadn't noticed the smell of cooking food, or even registered the now cold plate of food which had been placed beside him.

The other hobbits, Pippin and Merry especially were arguing back but Elion felt a shiver go down his spine. He knew they were exposed out here and whatever the hobbits were he didn't think they were fighters and if someone or something was looking for them the light of a fire would be visible for miles, acting as a beacon and drawing whoever was pursuing them straight here.

He turned to look for Aragorn once more and his heart leapt as he saw a tall figure in black approaching but almost instantly that feeling vanished as he realised that the figure was not Aragorn, and that there were several, all stalking towards them, glittering swords held before each of them.

Cold fear rose up inside him. The enemy was here, Aragorn was somewhere out in the wilds but if the enemy were here Elion knew that it was likely he wasn't alive. He pushed down his panic and grief brutally, letting the instincts honed in the years of fighting Voldemort take over. In that moment he forgot he was a child again, forgot that he was wounded and barefoot, without a wand or any other weapon, essentially helpless.

He backed quickly up the slope, his eyes trained on the threat that was gliding towards them on all sides, seeking the shelter of the ruins and he was aware that the hobbits were following him, shorts swords and frying pans clutched awkwardly in their hands but determination in their eyes that told Elion that the hobbits would fight with everything they had. That thought alone gave him hope, determination could win over knowledge and power, if it couldn't three first years would never have managed to prevent Voldemort's resurrection.

The shock of backing straight into a stone wall brought reality crashing down on him. They were outnumbered and sheer determination could not last forever against skilled opponents particularly when the hobbits had little experience with the weapons they were carrying, or in the case of Sam, no weapons save his frying pan. And he was a child, weaponless and wandless. His magic was there, but without a wand he had no hope of focussing it.

Elion swallowed hard, terror twisting his gut as the first of the figures glided through the opening, a chill despair surrounding them, filling the ruins with their presence. He started shivering, unable to do anything but shrink back against the wall as the figures glided closer, their swords swinging down in a deadly arc.

The clang of metal on metal yanked Elion back to the battle as he saw the first figure send Pippin flying into the wall almost contemptuously. Unthinkingly he reverted back to the battles he had been in and he threw out his right hand as if he had a wand and screamed out the first spell that came to mind. The sound of a sword clattering to the floor shocked him to the core as he realised that his spell had worked but it didn't slow the figure for long as the sword was back in his hand the next second and he continued to advance on the hobbits and Frodo in particular.

Elion felt dismay fill him, but at the same time a strange kind of elation. He wasn't defenceless, he wasn't a burden and he could thank them for their kindness by protecting them, his magic worked now he only had to find a spell that would affect them.

His voice cracked as he screamed a second spell but the curse just sailed through the nearest black cloaked figure as if they weren't even there. He was panting, the magic was taking a lot out of him and still the figures were advancing and one by one the hobbits were being tossed aside, Frodo was the only one left as he scrabbled backwards from where he had been thrown to the floor, his fingers reaching for something in his pocket.

A sword struck him and he flew limply off the blade and crashed into the ruins of a wall, his broken wrist screaming in protest as it broke his fall. Frantically he pushed the pain back and clambered unsteadily to his feet.

He was running out of time, he couldn't target the figures but he could target their robes. The ball of fire sped from his fingers and slammed into a black figure, instantly the black robes caught alight and the figure turned and vanished through a gap in the ruins. But Elion had no time to celebrate his success as the figures were close, too close. He may have got rid of one but there were still four advancing towards them and the nearest was within striking distance of Frodo, a long wicked looking knife stretching out like a silver snake.

Desperately Elion lashed out with a second spell, catching another of the black figures but he was not fast enough and a scream of pure agony rent the air. He spun round but before he could see who had been hurt, he refused to think a hobbit might have died, Aragorn was there, a flaming torch in one hand and his sword already sweeping through the air in a deadly arc.

The next minutes were a blur of fire and screams and the clang of metal against metal but Elion could hear the gasping breaths that cut through the noise of the battle like a knife and each breath tore at his heart, reminding him that here too he had failed to protect and someone was now hurt because of it. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that whispered but you're just a child, it was not your job to protect them, as the guilt welled up, thick and strong.

He crawled over to where Frodo was lying with his hand clutching at his shoulder and the tears started to pour down his face, why did another have to get hurt because of him? Hadn't enough people already suffered because of him, why must people in this world suffer too? "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." the apologies tumbled from his lips until he didn't know whether he was apologising for Frodo's injury, for not being quick enough, for being a burden, for the hobbit being injured or all of them at once.

And then Aragorn was there, his expression worried as he pulled the torn fabric away to reveal the wound. Elion let out a breath of relief when he saw that the wound was small, but the relief vanished as he saw that the worry in Aragorn's face had not faded but had rather increased in potency. The ranger spoke tersely to Merry and Pippin and in the next instant the hobbits were running back towards the campsite only to return moments later with cloth and a water skin.

Deftly the ranger washed and bandaged the wound but Elion could see that the hobbit's arm lay limp and there was a deathly pallor to his face that was visible even in the flickering torchlight. The clatter of hooves on stone made Elion flinch and he turned to see Sam leading the pony towards them. Aragorn said something brief to Sam then he lifted Frodo into the saddle and Sam went instantly to his friend's side, supporting him and leading the pony carefully out of the ruins.

Elion felt strong arms lift him and he was cradled in Aragorn's arms as the man spoke to the hobbits, his voice low and urgent and then they were running. The adrenaline was fading and Elion locked his arms around Aragorn's neck, ignoring the agony in his wrist and knotted his fingers in the ranger's cloak as he started to shake, tremors racking his thin body. It had been easy at the height of the battle to forget that he was no longer Harry Potter, he was no longer fighting Death Eaters but he was a child in a strange land and now it came crashing down on him.

The fight, the fear, the terror, Frodo being injured, the pain in his wrist and from his wounds where he had ripped open scabs in his desperate movements and the warm blood trickling down his feet where he had sliced them open in the mad scramble up to the ruins. The first sob tore its way from his throat, a throat hoarse from screaming, as the tears fell thick and fast.

He didn't know how long it had been before he was placed on the ground and he whimpered, unwilling to leave the safety of the ranger's arms but he heard Aragorn speaking his voice low and urgent and he could hear the breaths that forced themselves out roughly through Frodo's lips. He cried out when he saw Aragorn vanish into the darkness of the trees, Sam plunging into a second piece of forest and he curled up into a ball, watery eyes glancing between the forest and where Frodo lay, his pain clear in the harshness of his breaths and the way his face twisted.

Elion could see from the greyness of the hobbit's face and the urgency with which the ranger had moved that Frodo's injury was serious, perhaps even fatal. The guilt bubbled up once again, he didn't want to be the cause of another person's death.

A bright light shining through the trees caused the sharp fear to well up inside him once more and Elion pressed his back against the rock, his hands raised ready to fight but he knew that he was almost out of magic, he hadn't recovered fully from the Hogwarts battle and the spells had taken more energy than he had expected. He would be lucky if he could even cast one.

The light reached the clearing as Aragorn did and the ranger rushed to Frodo, ignoring the light completely as he tended to the hobbit's shoulder. Seeing that Elion relaxed, letting his hands drop down. If Aragorn was not treating it as a threat he knew that whatever it was wouldn't be here to harm them but it didn't stop him from being wary. His breath caught as a stately white horse stepped into the clearing, a tall beautiful lady astride him. She seemed to glow with an inner light and Elion knew instantly that she was not human, but Frodo's breathing seemed to deepen and lose a little of its roughness as she approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

She turned to Aragorn, speaking rapidly in elvish but Elion was too tired and in too much pain to follow the conversation. Now his fear had lessened somewhat, his wrist was screaming at him from the way he had thrown it about in the fight and the pain in his feet and of lacerations where the scabs had been ripped from his back and arms were demanding his attention.

He watched, only half paying attention as Frodo was helped onto the horse and settled in front of the woman who had be a friend of Aragorn before the horse sped off into the forest just as the first steely grey rays of dawn filtered through the trees. Elion ignored the confused shouting and cries as the hobbits protested and Aragorn replied as he curled in on himself, a whimper escaping from between his teeth.

Instantly he felt a hand rest lightly on his forehead, "Little one," he heard Aragon say softly, "Are you alright?"

"Hurts," Elion whispered, green eyes peeking upwards to meet concerned blue ones. He heard the ranger suck in a breath, and Elion glanced down at his wrist to see that it was hanging at an odd angle, and that the bottom of his trousers were stained red where the blood from his the cuts on his feet had dripped onto the cloth that had become unrolled at some point during the night.

"I'm sorry little one," Aragorn whispered as he lifted Elion and settled him comfortably on his lap, "I didn't realise that you had been hurt. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Frodo was hurt worse," Elion said simply, "I'm not important."

"Everyone is important," the ranger contradicted him quietly, "And if you are hurt again I want to know about it."

Elion didn't know what to say to that. In a few simple sentences Aragorn had shown more concern for his well-being than nearly everyone in his old world. Nobody there had ever wanted to know if something was wrong or if he was hurt, apart from maybe Sirius but he'd never really known his godfather and everyone else had just seen him as a saviour or had been his age and hadn't really wanted to deal with his problems.

He felt Aragorn probe the wound with gentle fingers, "I need to set your wrist again little one," he said quietly. Biting his lip Elion held his wrist out in front of him, knowing that it was going to hurt but Aragorn had not hurt him deliberately yet and he knew it would make it feel better eventually. He focussed on the trees in front of them as the man carefully removed the mangled splint and unwrapped the bandages but a scream burst from his throat as the wrist was jerked back into position.

As quickly as it had come the agony was replaced by the steady throb of pain as the wrist was splinted and bandaged. He heard the ranger murmur soothingly to him as Elion sank back against Aragorn's chest, his body going limp as the battle and the lack of sleep that night caught up with him. He was barely aware of Aragorn dressing his feet and lifting him once again, settling him comfortably on his hip. In the security of the ranger's arms Elion rested his head on Aragorn's shoulder and slipped gratefully into the comfortable oblivion of sleep.

* * *

**AN: **And here is the promised next chapter - again expect an update next Friday and I hope you enjoyed this and please review and support me and a huge thank you to all those who have already reviewed, favourited, alerted etc... Oh and just to clear up some confusion, Harry/Elion is part elvish, not an elfling, making him similar to the Dunedain in terms of blood and lifespan.

See you on Friday and please review.


	6. Chapter 5

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 5**

Aragorn felt relief well up in him as he felt the child go limp against his shoulder, his breathing settling into the regular breaths of sleep. Things had been too close that night. He had feared an ambush when they had paused at Weathertop, but they had had no other option and his fears had been realised when he had come across the tracks of the Nazgul's horses. He had only just made it back in time, any later and Frodo and the ring would have been lost, even now the question of whether the hobbit would survive weighed heavily on his mind.

It was sixty miles to Rivendell, Arwen should be able to cover that distance in a day, elven horses were swift and bred to be able to spend all day running but she had the Nazgul on her tail. Aragorn put that thought firmly from his mind, Arwen was more than capable of handling herself and because he had been able to treat the wound with athelas leaves Frodo should be able to hang on until they reached the city and the healing powers of the elves. He had already shown a great strength in bearing the ring for so long.

They had got off lightly that night and he knew they had been fortunate. The ring was still out of the enemy's hands and he knew Arwen and the elves would strive to ensure it remained that way, and there had been far fewer injuries than he had been expecting, indeed only Frodo and Elion had suffered any serious hurt, with the other three hobbits suffering nothing more than scrapes and bruises. Inwardly he cursed himself for not noticing the child's injuries sooner, he should have been more alert.

Firmly he stopped his thoughts in their tracks, it was no good to dwell on what he should have done, they were still in the wilderness and while he was sure that the Nazgul would have pursued Frodo and Arwen, on foot it was still six days travel to Rivendell it did not mean that there were not dangers left in the wilds and he couldn't afford to become complacent.

He turned to address the hobbits and inwardly sighed as he saw the mistrust had once again sprung into Sam's eyes, evidently sending Frodo with Arwen had not endeared him to the hobbit. "Frodo will arrive in Rivendell in the evening," he told them, ignoring their attempts to interrupt, "And he will find care and healing there that I cannot provide for a wound such as his alone and in the wilds. Lord Elrond is a mighty healer and can treat those wounds which are beyond my skill." He saw acceptance dawn in the faces of the hobbits but Sam was still a little belligerent.

"How do you know he will be safe?" He demanded

"The horses of the elves are faster than those the Nazgul ride," he explained, "And the elves are expecting him. Frodo will be safe." Sam nodded slowly, a little of the wariness leaving his eyes.

"But while Frodo will soon be beyond their reach, we are still several days travel from Rivendell," he said, "And whilst the Nazgul are distracted it does not mean our path is without danger."

That comment hit home, the hobbits had just had their first taste of battle and the first taste was always the sharpest. They were no longer the care-free hobbits he had met in Bree, blind to the danger they were walking into. They understood now and it was without complaint that they checked their packs were still securely fastened to Bill's back and started to walk once more, their conversations quiet and stilted.

Slowly as the hours passed some of the black mood surrounding the hobbits lifted. They weren't the same as they had been before, and they would never be but they were gradually overcoming the shock of the fight and seeing one of their own that badly injured. But still, although their expressions had lightened Aragorn noticed that they were sending odd and perhaps slightly fearful glances at the child sleeping in his arms.

He dropped his gaze to the child, his eyes examining him for any wound or mark or something he might have otherwise missed that was the cause of the hobbits wariness. Elion shifted slightly as Aragorn watched, the boy's fingers tangling themselves in his tunic, his small face peaceful as he slept. There was nothing in the child's bearing that would have caused such wariness therefore the only explanation was that something had happened either during the fight, or beforehand while he was scouting.

Frowning slightly he turned his head slightly to look at Merry. "What happened when the Nazgul attacked?" He asked, his voice a little sharp.

The hobbit started slightly, not expecting a question as Aragorn seldom spoke to them when they were travelling but he quickly summoned his thoughts and started to speak.

"There were five of them, Elion saw them first and he retreated up into the ruins and we followed him. There was an odd look in his eyes though, it was almost..." he paused, casting around for a word, "calculating I suppose. We stood in front of Frodo but the riders had those swords and just threw us aside," Here the hobbit shivered, despite the heat from the midday sun, "They were after Frodo, they weren't bothered with us except to get us out the way. Things got a bit blurry then, I hit my head so I didn't see everything but I heard Elion yell several things, they weren't in a language I recognised, I don't think it was elvish though..."

He trailed off but Aragorn was adept at reading men and he knew there was something that Merry hadn't told him yet. "And?" He prompted, his voice telling the hobbit that he knew there was something he was holding back.

Merry raised his eyes to look at him, his expression serious, "I don't know what he did but Elion yelled something in the strange language and a ball of flames burst from his hand and struck one of the riders setting him on fire." Aragorn's stride faltered for a second, he didn't know what he had been expecting but it hadn't been that. "He did it again," Merry continued to recount "And then you arrived and, well, you know." There was a pause, then the hobbit asked quietly, "What was it Strider?"

Aragorn didn't answer for a while, but eventually he spoke. "I believe it might be a kind of magic but Gandalf knows more than I when it comes to magic. But," his voice dropped, a slight protectiveness coating his tone, "Elion is a child, regardless of what he may be able to do. He used his ability to try and protect Frodo, you need not fear him."

Something eased in the hobbit's eyes and when Aragorn glanced back he saw that both Sam and Pippin had also relaxed. Inwardly he shook his head, although it was only natural for the hobbits to be frightened of something unknown there was no reason to be frightened of a child. The boy looked so small and so helpless and when he was awake he was timid and skittish, he might have powers or magic of some form but it was clear that he only used them in desperate situations. Elion was a child in need of comfort and protection and it was obvious to Aragorn that he had been hurt too many times in his life.

* * *

Elion blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light as he pushed back the sleepiness. For a moment he wondered where he was, confused to find himself being held against something warm and not in blanket. He raised his hand to rub at his eyes and he heard a low chuckle above him. Shyly he glanced up to come face to face with the kind face of the ranger.

"Hello little one," Aragorn said softly, smiling down at the child.

"Hello," Elion whispered, a blush rising on his cheeks as he realised he had been sleeping in the ranger's arms and he was clinging onto Aragorn's tunic. He knew he should let go but he felt safer doing so and Aragorn didn't seem to mind. At that moment full memory of the night came flooding back and he suddenly stiffened, Frodo had been hurt and he didn't know what had happened to him.

"Frodo?" He asked, his voice trembling.

The concern in Aragorn's face that had risen as he had become upset smoothed out, "Frodo will be fine Elion," he told him gently, "He has gone with Arwen to Rivendell where he will be healed."

Elion let out a sigh of relief before peeking over Aragorn's shoulder to see if the other hobbits were alright. Relief hit him again when he saw that they were unharmed, at least his inability to react fast enough had only resulted in Frodo being wounded but he flinched when he saw the look in Sam's eyes, something lurked there, a wariness and a distrust.

Elion's hurt plummeted. They blamed him for Frodo's injury and while he knew they had every right to, if he'd just been a bit quicker Frodo would have been fine, but he couldn't deny that it hurt. "I'm sorry," he cried out softly, tears welling in his eyes, "I didn't mean for Frodo to get hurt, I tried to protect him but there were too many, please don't hurt me, I'm sorry."

There was a moment of shocked silence and the tears streaked down Elion's face. He had known it was too good to last, he was a burden and a freak and he didn't deserve to be cared for and looked after but he didn't want them to leave him.

A hand came up and Elion flinched, his muscles preparing themselves for a blow but instead of the blow he was expecting he felt Aragorn rub his back soothingly, "Hush little one," he murmured, his voice tender, "I won't hurt you and you have nothing to apologise for."

Elion blinked, his mind unable to understand what he was being told. He was always the one at fault, he was the freak, the burden, the person that the fate of the world rested on and he was the cause of his friend's deaths. To his mind he had more than enough to apologise for so he shook his head. "I wasn't fast enough. Frodo got hurt and it's my fault." His voice dropped to a mere whisper at the end of the sentence, "I deserve to be hurt."

He heard the ranger gasp then he felt Aragorn pull him tighter against him, cradling him against his chest and holding him protectively. "No Elion," he said fiercely although the boy could detect the catch in his voice, "It was not your fault. You helped, and ensured that there were fewer Nazgul, if anything Frodo was less badly hurt than he would have been. You have nothing to apologise for."

The words soothed the guilt that was biting him, he only wished that he could believe them. He wanted to believe them but the knowledge that he was the one at fault had been deeply burned into his psyche, not only by his childhood but also the years at Hogwarts and the disaster that had been the second war against Voldemort.

Aragorn was speaking again, his voice soft but at the same time also stern, "And you do not deserve to be hurt. Whoever taught you that was wrong little one and they should never have hurt you. Do you understand that Elion?"

He just nodded but Elion could tell that Aragorn did not believe him but the ranger didn't press the matter and Elion was gradually relaxing once more when another question occurred to him, "Do the hobbits hate me now?" He asked quietly.

"No little one," Aragorn answered gently, "They are merely unused to seeing magic and you caught them by surprise at Weathertop. It frightened them a little but they don't hate you, just give them some time to get used to it."

Elion peeked over at the hobbits once more and this time he saw Pippin grin at him and his heart lightened. They had just been caught by surprise, perhaps wizards weren't that common here, and he smiled as he realised that that first people he had known in this new world were not going to abandon or hurt him. Aragorn had said that he wouldn't and for reasons that he couldn't quite explain, even to himself, Elion found himself beginning to trust the older man.

The next two days passed in a similar fashion to the first days he had spent with the group. After the first, awkward afternoon after Elion had first woken after Weathertop the hobbits relaxed around him once more and the following two days were filled with attempts to teach him the Common Language. Admittedly the progress was far slower without Frodo to act as a translator but Elion was gradually beginning to understand the basics of the language although he still had great difficulty following a conversation and speaking it but he was beginning to understand it when the hobbits directed simple sentences at him.

But although the days were passing quickly, the nights had rapidly become worse. The experience at Weathertop had woken something in Elion and every night since the ambush he had woken screaming and thrashing from a nightmare. His experiences fighting Voldemort which he had pushed as far away from his mind as possible had now come back and they haunted his dreams. Images of pain, of death, of fire, of torture and silent green death, and above all else guilt and loss.

But every night he had been pulled from his nightmares by Aragorn's voice and every night the man had held him until the shaking had stopped before tucking him back into his blankets and singing softly until Elion drifted back into dreams. The ranger hadn't pried and asked about the origin of the nightmares he had just been there, comforting and safe, although Elion had seen the concern in his eyes and knew that Aragorn wanted to question him but was refraining from doing so, and for that he was thankful. He didn't have any answers that wouldn't be impossible to believe and he didn't want to remember, he just wanted to forget because when he forgot it didn't hurt him anymore.

He couldn't understand why Aragorn was being so nice though. He knew if he had ever woken his Aunt or Uncle up with his nightmares he would have been hurt not comforted, and he couldn't understand why Aragorn wasn't grilling him for answers either. Everyone always asked him for answers and pressed him and pressed him even if he had nothing to say. But Aragorn was different and Elion didn't understand it, it couldn't be because he was a child, he had been a child to his Aunt and Uncle and they had never been kind or ever cared but Aragorn did and it didn't make sense.

Aragorn suddenly froze, breaking Elion out of his thoughts and he shrank in the ranger's arms, automatically trying to make himself smaller and less of a threat and a target to whatever had cause Aragorn to still. Behind them the hobbits froze as well, their eyes darting around warily as they too tried to locate the danger that he caused such a reaction in the ranger.

A second later Elion heard the noise that had put the ranger on guard, the steady beats of a horse's hooves against stone. He heard a terrified whisper of "Black Riders!" and he felt fear grip him as he realised that the creature down there was one of the same ones that had attacked them. He turned his head to bury it in Aragorn's shoulder, seeking the comfort and reassurance of the ranger's presence.

He heard the hoof-beats slow and finally stop and he shivered, knowing the black figure was about to attack them but he pulled his face out from where it was hidden against Aragorn's shoulder and shifted so his right hand was free, ready to cast if he needed to. He wasn't going to let anyone get hurt this time, even if Aragorn insisted what happened to Frodo hadn't been his fault, Elion knew it was and he was not going to fail again.

But he felt the tense arms carrying him relax and he glanced up, started to see that Aragorn's expression was one of relief and joy. The reason for the ranger's relief came a second later as a clear voice rang out through the air and a tall figure with shining armour and a fair face crested the ridge in front of them, "Well met Dúnadan!"

The language he was speaking and the relief in Aragorn's expression was enough to convince Elion that this man - or perhaps elf as he saw the man's pointed ears and realised that no human had a voice that fair - was not an enemy, but faced with a stranger he felt wariness spring up inside him and he turned and hid his face in Aragorn's shoulder.

"Well met indeed Glorfindel," Aragorn replied, "What are the tidings from Rivendell?"

"The ring bearer was borne there safely and Lord Elrond is treating him, he will recover and the ring has remained free of our enemy. I was sent to bring you and your companions to Rivendell with all haste, for whilst the Nazgul were overwhelmed at the ford they are still abroad and none can hope to withstand all nine alone."

Elion let a sigh of relief escape as he absorbed the news that Frodo would recover and was safe but the soft noise attracted the attention of the Elf-Lord, who's eyes now drifted down to the child Aragorn held securely in his arms. "Gandalf only spoke of the Halflings," he said, his voice conveying the question concealed within the statement.

"I found this little one alone in the wilderness, badly hurt and scared." Aragorn answered quietly. The Elf-Lord's eyes widened slightly and Elion saw anger rise in his eyes. Automatically he flinched away, anger in adults meant only one thing but the instant he moved the anger in the elf's eyes faded and he said something softly in the common tongue. Elion just looked at him helplessly, his hands clutching at Aragorn's tunic; while he recognised the language he didn't know very much yet and the words were doing little to reassure him.

The Glorfindel's brow furrowed, "Is he deaf?" He asked Aragorn, concern tinting his voice.

"No," the ranger replied, "Elion only speaks Sindarin." Elion clearly saw the shock in Glorfindel's eyes but the elf recovered a second later,

"It is approaching midday and it is over half a day's ride to Rivendell, it would be unwise to be still travelling as dark falls. I have horses for you and the Halflings and we must make haste, though if we could talk as we ride?" There was curiosity lurking in Glorfindel's voice and Elion did not miss the glance that the elf shot in his direction but Aragorn nodded and turned quickly to the hobbits, explaining the new turn of events.

Within a few scant minutes they were all seated on elven horses and cantering at a steady, ground eating lope, towards the ford and Rivendell. The hobbits had looked askance when the first horses had come into view but their shocked expressions had quickly morphed into expressions of relief when three smaller horses, almost ponies trotted up behind the two larger horses.

It was on one of the larger horses the Elion now rode, sitting on the front of the saddle with Aragorn holding him up tightly with one arm whilst the ranger guided the horse with a single hand and his knees. It was odd riding a horse, it was something he had never done before and riding a horse was really quite different from riding a hippogriff or a thestral and Elion was only now realising just how big horses were. It was a long way to the ground and he was very grateful that the ranger was holding him up and that he was so adept at riding that he was steering the horse so well with just one hand and his knees that Elion was hardly jolted.

He was gazing around at the landscape curiously, they were now cantering on what appeared to be an old road and he was fascinated by the new world he found himself in but he was brought out of his thoughts a second later when Glorfindel spoke. "Where did you find him, for a child to be so far from any village is unusual to say the least?"

Elion was perfectly content to let Aragorn answer the questions, he had known that an interrogation would occur soon enough but he wanted to prolong it for as long as possible and while Aragorn could answer the questions it was easy to let him. He didn't know what he going to say. He didn't want to lie because he knew he was a bad liar but at the same time he knew the truth would not be believed, and a large part of him wanted to forget it, to forget the war and fighting and being the 'Boy-Who-Lived'.

But he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid their questions forever and he didn't want to lie. Inwardly he came to a decision, he would never mention Voldemort or the Death Eaters or Dementors by name, bad people or nasty creatures would suffice and he would stick to the basic truth about his childhood. His parents had died when he was a baby, he had been raised by his Aunt and Uncle who hadn't liked him because of his magic and they'd all been killed, everyone he knew, by the bad men and he'd been hurt but kept alive and then something had killed them out in the wilderness and he had been left alone. It was truthful, it had only omitted a few facts and he knew that they would assume certain things about who Voldemort had been and what had killed them without him having to talk about crossing worlds or being grown up or anything like that.

Glorfindel's next question though shocked him out of his thoughts, "Little one," the elf asked gently, "Why were you in the wilds?"

Elion bit his lip, although he had decided what he was going to say he didn't want to have to say it and it may have been because he was a child again but he felt the overwhelming urge to hide his face in Aragorn's cloak so he didn't have to answer the question. What right did Glorfindel have to question him anyway, the elf didn't actually care, nobody did. But there was something about the elf that intimidated Elion, a sense of a vast power emanating out from the being, and a sense that he had seen more of life than Elion could dream about and it scared him. However he didn't know what the elf would do if he refused to answer so he pulled up his courage.

"They brought me there," he whispered eventually, his fingers clutching at Aragorn's sleeve and refusing to look at the elf.

"Where were you before they brought you there?"

"Home," Elion murmured, for Hogwarts had been his home, more than anywhere else had been really but it was gone now. Could your home be somewhere that no longer existed, or at least didn't exist in the world he was now in?

"Where's your home little one?"

"Gone, dead, destroyed. All dead. Everyone died." His voice held no inflection as he spoke.

It felt different saying it out loud. He knew it was gone, that everyone he knew was dead and that there was no going back but saying the words now it really hit him. They were gone. There was no Hogwarts, no Ron, no Hermione, no Neville, no Ginny, no Hedwig, no Hagrid, no McGonagall, no Snape, no Malfoy, no Remus, no Mr and Mrs Weasley, no Sirius, no Fred and George, no Ghosts, no Buckbeak, no Flitwick, no Dumbledore, no Hogsmede, no Gryffindor Tower, no Great Hall, no DA, no friends, no enemies, no anything. He was alone and they were gone.

Tears broke through him then and he turned away, twisting his body so he could hide his face in Aragorn's chest as the sobs came.

* * *

**AN** Hi all, hope you all enjoyed the update. Thank you for the support you have given me and please review.


	7. Chapter 6

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story! I've had a couple of comments so I felt it prudent to place a note here, the third genre if I had been allowed one would probably have been angst._

**Chapter 6**

Glorfindel didn't ask him anymore questions, even after he cried himself out and for that Elion was grateful, he didn't know how he would answer them and it was too painful, their deaths were too fresh. But even after the tears had stopped Elion stayed curled up against Aragorn's chest, his face hidden in the folds of the ranger's cloak, unwilling to raise his face and face the elf.

He knew Glorfindel was powerful, he could feel it and he had just refused to answer his questions and had hidden from him. The elf had to be angry, it was inconceivable that he wasn't and then Aragorn would be angry at him because he had made the elf, who had to be his friend angry and he didn't want Aragorn to be angry with him. An adult angry meant he got hurt and after Aragorn had been so kind to him it would just make the point when he turned and hit him worse.

He shivered at the thought, he liked being cared for and for a few short days it had actually felt like he might be more than a freak, a burden and a murderer and while he knew it couldn't last it didn't make the fact he knew it was over any easier to bear. He twisted his fingers deeper into the ranger's cloak. He soon wouldn't be allowed to and he wanted to keep the feeling of being cared for, safe and protected for as long as he could.

But Aragorn was still holding him securely and while he had been crying he had held him close and murmured reassurances and comfort to him. It was only now, after his crying had stopped that the ranger had finally stopped whispering comfort and had started to talk once more to Glorfindel, although this time the conversation was in the common tongue. It both relieved and scared him, relieved him in that he wasn't going to have to face more questions but also scared him because if they were talking in common when Glorfindel was an elf it meant that they were talking about something they didn't want him to hear and the only conversation he could think of that they wouldn't want him to hear was if they were talking about how to get rid of him.

He flinched at the thought and the conversation cut off abruptly.

"Little one," he heard Aragorn say, his voice gentle, "What's wrong?"

Elion didn't hear the concern in the question; his mind was focussed on the knowledge he was going to be abandoned. He didn't want to wait, waiting was worse than things actually happening, he wanted to know what was happening.

"When are you going to do it?" He asked almost inaudibly, his voice cracking on the words.

"Do what Elion?" Aragorn asked, concern and confusion tinting his tone.

Elion looked up in shock, betrayal in his eyes. He didn't think that Aragorn was cruel but for him to be denying what they were about to do hurt him more than the actual abandonment, it was easier when someone didn't pretend to care, it just made it hurt more. But when he met Aragorn's eyes he saw nothing but honest confusion and worry in them. It flustered him enough to make him whisper,

"Get rid of me."

There was a sudden intake of breath and then he felt Aragorn's arms tighten around him and he was pulled into as much of an embrace as was possible whilst riding on horseback. "I'm not going to get rid of you little one." Aragorn said fiercely, sincerity flowing through his voice.

But Elion was already shaking his head, a hysterical note in his voice. "Stop lying!" He cried out, everyone always lied and it hurt. Couldn't he just tell the truth, "Stop lying. Everyone abandons me. I'm a freak and a burden, nobody cares. Stop lying." The last words were nothing more than a whisper.

Vaguely he was aware that they had stopped riding and that all the hobbits and Glorfindel were watching him but the greatest part of his attention was focussed on the ranger. He felt the man lift him from the saddle and he closed his eyes, knowing he was about to be abandoned but his eyes snapped open as he felt Aragorn cradle him against his chest, holding him protectively.

He looked up into blue eyes, reading no guile or deceit in those eyes, only concern, protectiveness and kindness. "No little one," Aragorn murmured, "I'm not lying and I'm not going to abandon you. You're safe."

"But aren't you angry?" Elion asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Why would I be angry little one?"

Haltingly he explained but before he was even halfway through the ranger shook his head. "No Elion," he told him gently, "Neither Glorfindel or I are angry with you. You experienced something awful and you are allowed to cry and get upset. We are not angry."

Elion searched Aragorn's eyes with his own piercing green ones for a long moment, he was beginning to believe him but he still wasn't quite sure. Very slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the ranger's face, he reached out and clutched Aragorn's tunic, waiting for the man to pull his fingers away and abandon him. When Aragorn made no movement except to smile kindly at him, Elion relaxed and allowed the ranger to settle him back on the saddle and they started to ride once more although Elion kept his fingers securely twisted in the rough fabric of Aragorn's tunic.

* * *

Elion was dozing a little fitfully as the horses crested the final ridge, entering into a valley. The constant motion of adjustment and counter-adjustment required when riding had tired him, not to mention the emotional upheaval of the questioning and the events that had occurred afterwards. Dusk was heavy in the sky and the air was cool as he was woken by a light shake to his shoulder.

He blinked back the sleep, tensing automatically before he realised it was Aragorn who had woken him and he relaxed. Of all the people he had met so far in this new world he felt safest around Aragorn and he was reasonably certain that the man didn't intend to harm him, not when he had gone to so much effort to do the exact opposite.

"We've reached Rivendell little one."

Elion followed his gaze and looked down into the valley, seeing the town nestled on the valley side and perched above the river. Lights shone gently through the windows and the doors, illuminating the buildings in the face of the dusk. The whole town looked peaceful but Elion could feel the same sort of power and age thrumming from it that he felt from Glorfindel.

It made him nervous but this was where Aragorn had sent Frodo to be healed and this was where was bringing them too, and for the first time since he had met them, he could feel that Aragorn had relaxed fully. It was that more than anything that calmed him. He didn't know quite why he did but he felt like he trusted Aragorn, or at least trusted him enough to feel comfortable around him and to be reasonably confident that he would not deliberately put them in danger and he would try to protect them. If he was relaxed then surely it meant that this place, Rivendell was no threat, perhaps it was just old and powerful, much like Hogwarts had been and it was that presence that unnerved him.

Now he was awake it was difficult to fall asleep again, especially when there were so many interesting things to look at. This was the first time he had seen any habitation in this new world, or any sign of people apart from Aragorn and the hobbits and the new buildings and places made his curiosity rise, a sense of wonder with it. Even though he didn't know what would happen when they reached the town it didn't stop him from staring. It was just so different to what he had known in his old world. All the buildings were graceful and they seemed to almost be part of the landscape itself, almost as if the buildings had grown from the trees that surrounded them. There was a beauty and an openness surrounding it that he had never seen back in England and a peculiar type of majesty that he couldn't quite place.

But despite his curiosity and his desire to see as much as he could of this new place, by the time they had entered into the town itself nearly an hour later his eyelids were dropping and he was struggling to stay awake. He raised his head, startled when he realised the horse had stopped moving and that they were in a courtyard. Elion looked around in confusion, too sleepy to remember how and when they had entered.

Above him he heard a low chuckle then he was lifted from the horse and settled comfortably on Aragorn's hip. He yawned, resting his head on the ranger's shoulder, fully intending to sleep now they had arrived but the sound of new voices broke into his awareness and his wariness sprang up strongly, pushing any thoughts of sleep to the back of his mind.

He raised his head slightly, fearful eyes searching for the owners of the voices even as his body tensed and he locked his fingers into Aragorn's tunic. The ranger glanced down, concern in his eyes as he registered the action and the movement alerted the others in the courtyard to Elion's presence.

"Aragorn?" The man who had spoken was dressed in grey robes, with a large grey beard and grey hair. Elion was reminded rather strongly of Dumbledore as he noticed that this man too had some form of magical presence. He heard Aragorn start to explain about how he had been found but he ignored the explanation in favour of examining the people in the courtyard carefully, searching for any threat that they could pose.

Aside from the grey-bearded man there was also a tall man with long flowing black hair and a presence that reminded Elion of Glorfindel, only more powerful. He too had pointy ears and Elion guessed that he was an elf, so perhaps this was a town of elves, he certainly couldn't imagine such powerful beings not having their own home. The dark-haired elf's eyes were stern but there was a kindness and a wisdom in their depths that persuaded Elion that the man probably wasn't cruel although he struggled to relax, the power he felt radiating outwards keeping him tense.

"Magic?!" The exclamation jerked him out of his thoughts and Elion flinched, immediately turning to hide his face in Aragorn's shoulder. The movement did not go unnoticed and he heard the elf speak.

"You must all be hungry and weary and while I find myself with many questions they can wait until the morn. There is a supper waiting for you in one of the side chambers and rooms have been prepared. Eat and rest and recover from your pursuit. Le nathlan hi." The elf inclined his head and Elion watched as the others returned the gesture and he hurried to do so himself. He didn't want to make anyone angry when he was this helpless and it would be so easy to hurt him.

A few hours later Elion found himself lying in a bed for the first time since he had arrived on Middle Earth. They had all eaten supper in a small chamber off the main hall that Glorfindel had led them to but while the hobbits had retired to their rooms the instant the meal was finished Aragorn had insisted on taking him to what appeared to be their infirmary to get his wrist splinted properly and his wounds checked. By this point he had been virtually asleep in the man's arms and this was the only reason he had hardly reacted when his wounds had been washed and re-bandaged.

He couldn't really remember how he had gotten to the room he was now in, he only knew that Aragorn had carried him there and tucked him into bed. The ranger had left a few minutes later but not before explaining his room was across the hall and the hobbits could be found just around the corner. The knowledge that Aragorn was nearby and the fact that nobody here seemed to want to hurt him relaxed Elion enough for the exhaustion that had been steadily rising in him throughout the last several hours to take hold as he fell quickly into sleep.

* * *

The peace of the last homely house this side of the sea was shattered that night by the sound of a child's screams. Elves, hobbits and a wizard stumbled out of their beds, hands looking for weapons but Aragorn had heard these screams before. Within moments he had hurried into the young child's room and drawn the boy into a loose embrace, his deep voice murmuring reassurances until finally emerald eyes snapped open and terror filled irises met his own.

He drew Elion close and continued to sooth the child, singing softly in elvish to try and calm him and holding the boy in a comforting embrace. His attention was so focussed on the child in his arms that he didn't notice the crowd that had gathered around the door that he had left open in his haste to get to Elion, nor the way Elrond, Glorfindel and Gandalf had dispersed the gathering crowd of elves until only the three of them remained, the hobbits having remained in their rooms as they were already well aware of Elion's nightmares.

Eventually the child fell back into slumber and Aragorn gently placed him back in his bed and drew up the covers, brushing Elion's hair out of his eyes with gentle fingers. He paused for a moment before he moved to leave the room, his eyes lingering on the child as he wondered what events in the boy's past had him screaming every night. He knew Elion's life had seen more than its share of war and darkness, the child's injuries and his responses to some of the questions he had been asked attested to that but he couldn't help but wonder what the child had seen and experienced that caused him to react so badly.

He let out a quiet sigh and turned to see Elrond, Glorfindel and Gandalf gathered in the doorway.

"I take it such events are common?" Elrond asked quietly as soon as the door was closed, in an effort not to wake the sleeping child.

"Nightly," Aragorn confirmed, "Sometimes more than one and there hasn't been a night since Weathertop when he hasn't had at least one." He paused for a moment then added, "Though I believe the nightmares are caused by events that occurred before Weathertop,"

The Elf-Lord nodded solemnly, his eyes containing the sorrow he felt at the child's suffering, "Do you know anything about where the child came from Aragorn?"

The ranger couldn't do more than grimace, "No," he replied, "Save that it is a place far enough away that he does not speak the common tongue and from what he said, it was destroyed by those who captured and tortured him – presumably for his magic or gift." He glanced questioningly at Gandalf before continuing, "I doubt he has a home anymore and I know he is an orphan."

There was a short silence, and Aragorn could clearly see the sadness and concern in the other's eyes that he knew shone in his own then Gandalf spoke, his voice slow and considering, "I can certainly feel a magical presence emanating from the child, although it is notably different from other Istari and from the hobbits' accounts I believe he had at least some measure of control over his gift. However I will need to test the boy soon, to ascertain the extent of the control he has over his gift and its nature and this must be done soon, before the council, as my findings will have an impact on what I must say and where he will potentially live."

There was a silence as that sentence was considered but Aragorn eventually broke it, "But regardless of what Gandalf discovers he still needs a loving home where nothing will harm him. He has been hurt too much already." There was a protective thrum in his voice than none of the three missed and Gandalf nodded his head at the ranger.

"I had not forgotten that Aragorn, although if he is indeed an Istar I fear little could keep him from danger."

* * *

Elion's eyes widened and he twisted round to hide his face in Aragorn's shoulder. He had been woken that morning by the ranger and given new clothes before Aragorn had carried him to a hall where breakfast was being served, the ranger insisting that his feet were not yet healed sufficiently for him to walk on them. But once the meal was over Aragorn had picked him up once more and taken him to a courtyard where Glorfindel and the two people he had seen yesterday were waiting for them.

He knew he was about to be questioned and he didn't want to answer and they felt so powerful and that scared him which was why he was currently seeking refuge in Aragorn's shoulder. A hand rubbed his back, trying to coax him out of his hiding place, "This is Lord Elrond and Gandalf," Aragorn explained to him softly, "Lord Elrond is the leader of the elves here at Rivendell and Gandalf is a wizard. Neither of them mean you harm little one, Gandalf merely wishes to learn about your abilities."

Emerald eyes peeked up as Elion gazed steadily at the ranger, "I'm not in trouble?"

"No little one," Aragorn reassured him, "Gandalf just needs to know about your magic and see how much you know. You are not in trouble and you won't be in trouble for using it. None of us will hurt you." Elion relaxed slightly and raised his head from its hiding place to look at the wizard. There was a definite presence surrounding him but he was smiling and his eyes were kind.

"Hello there Elion," Gandalf said quietly and Elion was pleased to see that he stayed several paces away and that the two elves were a little further away still.

"Hello," he replied shyly, not making any move to leave Aragorn's lap.

Gandalf smiled kindly at him, his hands resting open on his knees and still keeping his distance. When he spoke his voice was quiet and calming and Elion was reminded of someone trying to coax a wild frightened animal out of where they were hidden, "The hobbits told me about your fire at Weathertop," he said quietly, "Can you make some fire for me?" He pointed with one knotted finger at a small brazier located to the side of the courtyard.

Elion bit his lip and nodded, stretching his hand out in front of him. It felt different from using a wand and the spells took more magic but Elion narrowed his eyes and focussed on the brazier a few meters away. "_Incendio," _He commanded and a small burst of fire sped from his fingertips, landing on the coals in the brazier and setting them alight instantly.

He heard several sharp intakes of breath and he looked up worriedly, his eyes searching the ranger's face. What if Aragorn didn't like him now? His Aunt and Uncle had never liked magic and that's why they had hurt him and he didn't think he could stand it if Aragorn hurt him too. But Aragorn was smiling down at him, "That was very impressive Elion," he said softly, and Elion felt the ranger card his fingers through his hair, soothing the worries running through his mind, "I can see why you startled the hobbits."

Gandalf also smiled at him, "Well done Elion." There was a pause and then Gandalf leant forward, "You've shown us the fire, are there any more things you can do with your gift Elion or is it just fire?" He asked quietly.

"More," Elion whispered in reply.

Gandalf nodded at that statement, "Can you make light?" He asked next and when Elion nodded he said, "Show me."

Elion nodded and concentrating for a moment he muttered the incantation and a globe of light grew in his palm, nestled just inches from his fingertips. The question and demonstration set the stage for the next hour or so. Gandalf would ask questions about what he could do and Elion would either nod or shake his head and when he nodded Gandalf would ask him to demonstrate.

The spells were easier to cast than the ones he had cast at Weathertop but he wasn't putting as much power into them either as he made objects float, broke sticks and mended them again and many other small spells but nevertheless after he had cast about twenty of these small spells he could feel that his magic was tired and when Gandalf next asked him to show him something Elion shook his head.

"I don't have enough magic left," he said shyly, refusing to meet the wizard's eyes. When a reply wasn't forthcoming he glanced up to look at Gandalf's face and he saw that the man was regarding him, an assessing look in his eyes. Automatically Elion flinched back, shrinking into Aragorn's chest and the safety the ranger's arms provided and he felt the man's arms tighten in response. He didn't like being manipulated, Dumbledore had done it to him back in his old world and it had resulted in deaths even if it was well meaning and seeing it here too scared him.

But when he had flinched Gandalf's expression had smoothed out, "I'm not going to hurt you little one," he said, his voice low and calming, "I am just curious to see a child Istar, and one with powers that are different from those possessed by myself and my kin but at the same time are similar, now there is one last thing I want you to do. I want you to hold this and see how it responds to you."

At his words Gandalf handed over what appeared to be a long gnarled stick of wood that was far taller than he was but Elion recognised it a second later as a staff, just made out of several branches twisted together. As he grasped it in his hands he felt a sudden thrum of magic rush through him and a burst of light broke from the top of the staff, even as the ground shook slightly underfoot.

Thoroughly unnerved and a little frightened Elion dropped the staff and turned, hiding his face in Aragorn's cloak. There was a moment of silence which was eventually broken by the sound of a deep chuckle and Elion peeked up, although he didn't release the grip he had on the ranger's tunic. "That was quite a display child," Gandalf said after his mirth had subsided somewhat, "It is certainly a powerful gift you have there."

Elion cautiously raised his eyes, and relaxed slightly when he saw no fear or accusation in any of their faces. Gandalf smiled at him, "I just have a couple of questions for you and then you can go and play."

Elion just watched him, his eyes containing a blankness and a confusion. Go and play? He didn't know how to, it had been so long since he had been able to have fun and he had never been allowed to play as a child and anyway, hadn't Aragorn told him he wasn't supposed to be walking yet? A brief furrow crossed Gandalf's face but it soon smoothed out, even as Elion saw the elves exchange glances. "How old are you little one?" Gandalf asked.

"Eighteen," Elion replied after a brief hesitation. The figure had told him he aged differently now so he thought it would be alright to say his real age and not make something up, anyway if they did keep him around for long enough they would discover he had lied and he didn't want to lie to them. There was an intake of breath after his answer but when he glanced up at Aragorn, worry in his eyes, the ranger smiled softly down at him.

Gandalf had nodded at his answer and now proceeded to ask his next questions, varying from whether he had some form of staff to what language had he been speaking and were incantations necessary. All these questions Elion answered with as few words as possible, and sometimes with just a nod or shake of the head but Gandalf seemed to be satisfied with them and no more than a few minutes later he stood, "This has been very enlightening, and thank you Elion for showing us some of your magic." He turned to the elves then and they conversed rapidly in voices too low for Elion to make out for a moment and then they stood and headed back to the house, nodding at Aragorn as they passed and smiling at Elion.

Elion watched until they had all left before he turned to look up at Aragorn, confusion obvious in his face. "Don't you want to play little one?" The ranger asked. Elion bit his lip before looking up at the ranger, his voice extremely soft when he spoke.

"How do I play?"

* * *

**AN: **And here is the next one, hope you all like it and I'm thrilled with the support I've received for this story, a huge thank you to all who have reviewed, alerted, followed etc and please continue to review.

I think I might have said this already but I'm still getting questions so I'll clarify, Elion is only part elf - something like a great grandparent was an elf but his ancestors since then have been human making him part elf, more like the Dunedain than full elves.


	8. Chapter 7

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 7**

Aragorn was struggling to keep his disquiet from showing on his face as he made his way through the halls of Rivendell to Lord Elrond's study. He had put Elion to bed around half an hour ago, and while the child's wounds were healing well he was only just beginning to learn how deep the emotional scars the child possessed ran. His reactions while Gandalf had slowly tested his magic had spoken volumes about how his gift had been regarded by the people he had grown up with but it was some of the information that Elion had shared which worried him the most.

The child was eighteen summers old. In a way the number wasn't a shock, the presence of magic indicated that he was more than an ordinary child and Gandalf certainly had not aged according to the years of men but in another way it was. Elion appeared to be five, but it was obvious he had been starved and badly treated so it wouldn't be stretch to think he looked younger than he was supposed to, and if he was supposed to be six physically then he was aging at the same rate as Dunedain children which raised more questions.

And then there was the final revelation. Elion had asked him how he was supposed to play. The simple question had sent a dagger into his heart. How could a child, eighteen summers old, have no knowledge of how to play? He had tried to keep his sorrow from the child as he had patiently taught Elion a few simple games and he had been rewarded by the sound of the child's laughter and seeing Elion relax around him a little more but it still troubled him.

He was beginning to put together a clear picture of the life the child had led before he had found him. It was becoming obvious that not all his hurts had been sustained in the period when he was captured but several of them ran far deeper and stretched back longer. Aragorn was convinced that the child had been treated with precious little kindness or affection in his life and he knew that even if they discovered where the child had come from he would not allow him to be returned there, even if his previous caretakers were still living.

He knew the elves felt the same way. The whole of Rivendell had been woken by Elion's nightmares the previous night and the story of how he had been found and his injuries had rapidly spread. Children were so precious to the elves, be they elf or human they were protected and cherished and the thought that a child had been so cruelly treated had torn at every elf's heart. Aragorn knew that it they had not been told by Elion that those who had hurt him were dead and that his home had been destroyed there would already be elves seeking out the perpetrators and delivering justice.

It was his knowledge of the kindness that the elves would bestow on any child, and his direct experience of that caring growing up that was enough to persuade him that Elion would be safe here when he had to take his leave as the threat of Sauron grew and the darkness begun to shadow the lands. Frodo had woken that afternoon, and while he had recovered from his wound at the hands of the Witch-King, Aragorn knew the discovery of the ring and the Nazgul travelling abroad meant war had come to Middle Earth.

He had a duty to Middle Earth, to right the wrong that his ancestor had committed, even if it took his life. He feared the duty, feared the weakness that was in his blood, and feared the consequences if he were to fail but he would still do his duty. He was going to war, and war was no place for a child regardless of the gift they possessed. Elion would be safe in Rivendell, protected and sheltered from war and pain like he should have been all his life and it was that knowledge that reassured him that it would be the right decision to leave Elion here when he rode to war.

He had not known the child for long but a fierce protectiveness had grown swiftly inside him. Elion was so fragile, hurt and frightened; he could see it every time the boy flinched away from a stranger and in the confusion in his eyes whenever he showed the child any affection, he could hear it in his nightmares and see it in the green eyes which had seen too much for the face they were in. But despite it all there was a purity and a spirit inside Elion which had survived the horrors he had experienced and was easy to see. It gave him hope that despite the ever growing darkness there was still light in Middle World, and that light did not have to be crushed by darkness.

Aragorn reached Elrond's study and entered to find Gandalf and the two elves already there and waiting for him.

"The child is asleep?"

Aragorn nodded in reply, the 'for now' hung unspoken in the air as they all recalled the screams of the child's nightmares.

"Elion has magic." Gandalf broke the subject abruptly and the attention of everyone in the room snapped to him as the wizard climbed to his feet and started paced restlessly, "But he is not an Istar. Whilst his powers are similar and he got a response from my staff he does not need it to access his magic, though it improved it, and he ages and was born. From his age alone I would say he has elven blood in him but while elves had gifts of foresight among others, magic in a similar form to my own is not something you wield."

He stopped pacing then and turned to face them, his face grave.

"However," he said, his voice serious, "Although his magic is different to my own it is powerful. The reaction he achieved from my staff, a focus not his own and when he had already used up a lot of his magical energy was far beyond what I expected and he didn't have control over it." He motioned with one hand when it looked like Glorfindel was about to interrupt, "He had control over the pieces I asked him to perform without a focus but no control over what he channelled through my staff, even with his magic depleted."

"The child is without a focus," Elrond interjected and Gandalf turned, resuming his pacing.

"That is true for the moment," he conceded, "However anything can be turned into a focus and that is something the child could easily do without knowing it and if he succeeded and his magic was at full strength then the reaction we saw today would be nothing compared to what would happen." There was a grim silence as everyone present remembered the ground shaking and contemplated what could have happened had the magic released been greater.

"What are you suggesting Gandalf?" Aragorn's question was mild but the protectiveness that coated his tone was heard clearly by everyone in the room.

"Elion cannot remain here," Gandalf said, holding up his hand when both Aragorn and the elves went to protest, "He needs to be taught how to hide his magic, and to control and use a focus before he discovers or makes his own and those are skills that cannot be taught by elves. I need not tell you of the consequences if Sauron was to discover the child's power."

The wizard's gaze caught and pinned the three others in the room, "And discover it he will if Elion remains here for such a magical explosion will eventually be inevitable and then the full might of Sauron will be turned here."

There was a hissing intake of breath, "Rivendell could not survive such an assault," Elrond said, "This is no fortress and whilst the power of the Eldar is strong here it is no match for armies of orcs."

Gandalf nodded, "And this is why Elion cannot remain here for long."

"And what are you suggesting we do with Elion then Gandalf," Aragorn asked, bite in his voice, "A war is no place for a child."

The wizard sighed, "I know Aragorn and I do not like it, but his powers are such that we cannot keep him hidden from the Enemy forever, he is part of this war no matter what we do." The look on the ranger's face was dark but Aragorn did not contest the point. "I think though, it would be safest for all concerned if Elion came with me, no matter what course the council takes. I can teach him how to control and wield a staff and sword and I am a difficult adversary for the Enemy to find, and I believe that once Elion has received training he could be a force to be reckoned with in this war."

"You would take the child to be your apprentice then?" Elrond questioned.

"For a time," the wizard replied enigmatically, his eyes shifting across to Aragorn and then into the distance as he slipped into memories, "I do not believe Elion will be mine to teach for long, and not just for the star which hangs round his throat."

"The pendant?"

"A mark of the Valar," Elrond said, his voice grave, "One not seen for an age. I must confess I had not thought it such, surprised to see such a mark on one so young but upon examination today I perceived its power. It is no mere coincidence then, that the child is found on the eve of war, or that he has powers we would not suspect, but despite this I do not believe he is meant to fight, rather I would say his purpose in this war is different for if he was to fight why would the Valar send a child?"

* * *

Elion was woken that morning by Aragorn's hand on his shoulder and once he had dressed found himself once again being carried securely on the ranger's hip as they headed to the main hall for breakfast in a way that was rapidly becoming familiar to him. He wasn't sure why but Aragorn treated him with more kindness and even perhaps affection than any adult had really shown him before.

Certainly Sirius had tried and for the most part had succeeded, and so had Remus and Mrs Weasley but the affection you showed a teenager was very different from the affection you showed a child. He hadn't wanted to be treated like a child, needing their support rather than Mrs Weasley's attempts to coddle him and hide him from the world. But although he hadn't realised it there had been a part of him, buried deep, that had longed for the type of treatment and comfort he had received ever since the ranger had found him.

"I think you'll soon be walking again little one," Aragorn's voice broke him out of his thoughts and Elion looked up, excitement in his eyes, for as much as he liked being carried it would be nice to be able to walk on his own once more.

"Really?" He asked, a little disbelief colouring his voice. He had been promised things before only to see them broken but Aragorn nodded.

"I think your feet are healed enough now. All you need now are a pair of shoes and for Ithilwen to give walking her blessing."

For the first time since he had arrived in Middle Earth Elion felt a grin stretch across his face. He had never liked being cooped up, and although he hadn't been really, he had still had the independence of being able to walk on his own taken from him but still he realised suddenly, he would miss being carried by Aragorn, and the feelings of safety and security it brought him.

His smile faded a little and he curled a little closer to the ranger, his fingers twisting deeper into Aragorn's cloak, not wanting to waste what was probably going to be the last time he was carried, as nobody would choose to burden themselves with a child when that child could easily walk. He heard Aragorn chuckle and he glanced up sheepishly although he didn't loosen his grip.

It was then he noticed the hint of disquiet that lurked in the back of the ranger's eyes and the worry that he was trying to mask. Elion's smile faded further and his mind raced as he wondered what had made the ranger worry. He didn't know much about this new world, but suddenly a terrible thought rose in him, "Is Frodo alright?" He asked quietly, dread rising in him at the thought the hobbit might have got worse again but Aragorn looked at him in honest confusion,

"Frodo's fine Elion," Aragorn said, "He was at the feast last night and is recovering well. But why are you asking this little one, you saw him last night."

"You're worried," Elion answered softly, his fingers playing restlessly with the ranger's cloak, "I thought something might have happened to Frodo."

"Nothing's happened to Frodo," Aragorn reassured him but he didn't say anything further.

But Elion found himself unsatisfied by the answer. Aragorn hadn't told him what was worrying him, rather he had evaded the question and curiosity was growing inside him. Bits and pieces were falling into place now, the figure had mentioned something about a war, they had been attacked, Aragorn was a warrior, even if he wasn't like the ones he had known and now that Elion thought about it he could see the subtle hints that spoke of war. Swords and arrowheads being forged in the smithy, the patrols that went out every morning and every night, the gatherings of elves that spoke in low, worried whispers and above all the look in the faces of the people he had met here that he had seen too many times before. It all pointed to a single, inevitable conclusion.

War is coming.

He hadn't realised he had spoke aloud until Aragorn looked down, shock in his eyes even as his arms tensed. "Why do you say that little one?" The ranger asked but Elion noticed the slight hesitancy in the man's voice.

"It's true isn't it," Elion said quietly, not really answering the question as his mind drifted back to the last days of the war. "War is coming. A war that it doesn't seem possible to win but a war you can't afford lose."

As he spoke the certainty grew in his voice. He had not spoken to many people here but he had recognised the look they had on their faces, the look he had seen time and time again in both the early and late days of the war against Voldemort. Grim determination mixed in with fear and resignation and the slightly haunted look in the depths of their eyes, the lingering memory of lost friends and wondering who would be lost next.

He was pulled out of his memories as he heard Aragorn's sharp intake of breath and the sorrow in the ranger's voice as he murmured, "For a child to know war so well to recognise it in a place such as this..."

Elion started slightly as he felt Aragorn's arms tighten and the ranger's grip shifted, so he was being held protectively against the ranger's chest, almost as if Aragorn was attempting to shield him from his knowledge and past experiences. Elion twisted a little so he was able to look up and he saw sadness and pity lurk in the depths of the ranger's eyes.

"I'm alright," he said, a little self-consciously.

He had never really known how to respond to people's sadness and pity, especially when it had been directed at him. It made him uncomfortable, not only because he wasn't really sure why they pitied him but also because he had seen the look on strangers who knew nothing about him as a person but they were still judging him. It used to make him angry, he hadn't needed or wanted their pity and they didn't know him but it had been different when he was with his friends, he hadn't minded it as much but that didn't stop him from being uncomfortable.

"No little one," Aragorn contradicted him gently as he explained, "No child should have the deep understanding of war that only comes from experience and such knowledge is never alright, no matter the age, but is all the more grievous to see in a child. Innocence should not be marred by war."

Elion thought about that during breakfast and as the elven healer examined his feet. He hadn't had any innocence in a long time. The Dursley's had removed a large portion of the innocence and he supposed the last vestiges that clung to him had been thoroughly removed the night Cedric died, and the night the war started in earnest. He hadn't really considered it at the time but he, and a large majority of those who had fought in the war had been teenagers, or scarcely adults as they fought and were cut down. Now Aragorn's words raised something in him he had never considered before, had it been right? Had it been right for the burden of a war to be placed on the shoulders of children?

He didn't know. At the time it had seemed so simple. They fought because they would not give into the darkness and because no one else would and they had been sure that they were doing the right thing. And Elion still knew it had been right to fight but he now found himself wondering whether they should have been the ones fighting at all? He didn't know.

Forcibly he pushed the thoughts away as the faces of his dead friends rose in his mind and he bit his lip as he struggled to keep the tears at bay. They were dead and gone, killed in a war that was his fault and he had no right to mourn. He was in a new world now where he was actually cared for and looked after and it hurt to think back to what he'd lost.

"Little one? Elion?" Aragorn's concerned query broke into his consciousness.

Emerald eyes blinked back the beginnings of tears as a large, rough hand squeezed his far smaller one comfortingly. When Elion said nothing the ranger pressed further, worry layering his voice until eventually Elion whispered, "Remembering hurts."

The ranger's blue eyes were bleak with understanding but it was still with incredible gentleness that Aragorn held his hand out and Elion, after no more than a moment's hesitation took it.

Aragorn navigated his way through the corridors of Rivendell with the ease that only comes from complete familiarity, Elion holding tightly to his hand. Elion hung on tightly, grateful for the support the ranger was providing. He hadn't really had any opportunity to walk since he had arrived in Middle Earth, and certainly not for any length of time since his body had been changed. He hadn't noticed it before but his smaller stature had done peculiar things to his balance and he had often found him clinging to Aragorn's hand to keep him from falling as his steps altered his balance in ways that caught him by surprise.

He had flinched slightly the first time it had happened, his eyes flicking up to meet the ranger's and his body tensing as he prepared for a blow or rebuke however Aragorn never even raised his voice or rebuked him, rather he slowed his pace to make it easier for the child and whenever Elion overbalanced Aragorn steadied him before continuing to walk. Throughout the entire journey he was patient and kind and Elion couldn't help but be perplexed by his actions although he was quickly starting to realise that the kindness the ranger treated him with was normal for him.

The sound of laughter greeted them as they emerged from the corridors of the house onto a balcony. A small smile lit Elion's face as he took in the scene, Pippin was running from an irate Merry, the water dripping from his soaked hair proclaiming loudly that he had just been the target of a prank. The smile transformed into giggles as Elion saw Merry catch Pippin and sent him flying to the ground before shaking his sopping hair at the younger hobbit who responded the only way a troublemaker who had been caught by his victim could.

Elion's giggles drew the attention of the other hobbits to their presence on the balcony and Frodo turned towards them, a smile on his face as he greeted them. Elion waved shyly in response. Although Frodo had been permitted to leave his bed it was obvious that he was not completely healed yet. The hobbit's face possessed a pale cast and he was favouring his right arm and side slightly.

Elion felt guilt bite him once more. No matter what Aragorn and the other hobbits had said it didn't change the fact that Frodo had been hurt and that if he had been a little quicker, or worked out that fire could affect them earlier he might not have been. It was just one more in the long list of things that were his fault.

Therefore he was startled when Frodo rose and came over to him, bending down a little to look straight at him, "Thank you Elion," the hobbit said sincerely, "If not for your actions at Weathertop I doubt I would have survived long enough to reach Rivendell."

Elion shuffled his feet, self-consciously, feeling like he had done nothing to deserve the thanks. "You're welcome," he mumbled eventually, still not meeting the hobbit's eyes as he knew his injuries had been his fault.

By this point the other three hobbits had gathered around, grins on their faces. Pippin was the first to speak, his eyes bright and his voice cheerful as he greeted the small boy and before Elion realised quite what was happening he had been dragged into some form of game. He didn't understand the rules but he couldn't help but laugh as he valiantly tried to run from the hobbits only to be caught and tickled whenever he stumbled or overbalanced.

Despite the scrapes and bruises Elion managed to acquire as he fell throughout the game his enjoyment hadn't lessened at any point and even when the running game drifted to a close, with both Elion and Frodo too tired to continue running the smile had not vanished from his face. The game morphed into a Common Tongue lesson and with Frodo happy and willing to translate progress was swifter, although laughter was never far away.

Elion had been having so much fun it wasn't until Aragorn returned several hours later and informed them that Elion needed to go to the Halls of Healing for a check up that he realised that the ranger had left shortly after the game had started and he hadn't noticed.

He considered his lapse in awareness as Aragorn led him back to the Halls of Healing, once more holding his hand tightly. Eventually Elion decided that there were a few people that he felt comfortable enough around in this new world to relax around, Aragorn was one and the hobbits were the others. He trusted Aragorn the most he thought, but he was still very comfortable around the hobbits, perhaps because of all the people he had met in Middle Earth, they reminded him the most of his old friends and that familiarity manifested itself in their ability to distract him, particularly Merry and Pippin.

He fidgeted a little as Ithilwen checked his feet again to ensure that the walking and running hadn't damaged them further but when she nodded in satisfaction, Elion slid off the bed, glancing up at Aragorn curiously when he was standing back on the floor. The ranger smiled slightly at his inquisitive look and held out his hand once more. This time there was no hesitation when Elion took it and Aragorn's smile widened as the ranger led him back into the maze of corridors that Rivendell was filled with.

* * *

**AN: **And there is the next chapter folks! Hope you all enjoyed it, and a huge thank you to everyone who has supported this story, I have been blown away by the number of reviews, favourites and follows. Thank you very much and please continue to review. See you next week!


	9. Chapter 8

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 8**

Aragorn couldn't help the smile the rose on his face as he walked through the halls of Rivendell, Elion holding tightly to his hand. While the boy was still a little shaky when he was walking, something the ranger put down to the period he had been unable to walk, and potentially the absence of a burden such as chains, Elion was gradually regaining his sense of balance and his footsteps were becoming stronger with each step the child took.

The wonder on the child's face was also a joy to behold. Aragorn had seen too much pain and fear on the child's features and it reassured him to see some more childish emotions shine through. Some of the child's observations, especially about war had shocked him to the core. It was knowledge that a child should not have possessed and he had thought that Elion's innocence had been completely destroyed, for it was obvious he had experienced war, but the laughter he had seen when Elion was playing with the hobbits and the wonder on his face now showed him that the child still had some of his innocence intact.

"Where are we going?" Elion asked timidly a few minutes later, emerald eyes peeking up to meet his. Curiosity shone brightly from them but Aragorn could also detect fear lurking their depths and he could tell that Elion was tense.

"We're going to the Hall of the Second Age."

Elion nodded at the answer although Aragorn could see that the child was confused. It didn't surprise him, a lot of the history of Middle Earth had been forgotten by the ordinary people, and while there were many suspicions surrounding the child's origins it was reasonably certain that he had never received a proper education, not that many outside the major cities of men and the elven settlements were educated properly in the first place.

Normally Elion would have been taught what he needed to know by Gandalf seeing as the Istar had taken him as an apprentice however the council was tomorrow and while Gandalf would explain the situation to the child and find him a focus beforehand Aragorn had been adamant that Elion could not go into such a council, even as an apprentice without at least a basic knowledge of the pertinent history of Middle Earth and the evil that they were facing.

As much as he detested the idea that a child should end up in a war, he would have vastly preferred for Elion to remain safe in Rivendell he had been forced to admit that it was actually safer for the child to be with Gandalf. However with the knowledge that Elion was going to be with Gandalf, he knew the child needed to know at least the basics of what was happening.

Aragorn knew that ignorance could kill and he would do everything in his power to ensure the child remained safe, for none deserved the rangers' protection more than those unable to defend themselves. But more than that, he wanted to see Elion safe not merely because it was his duty. He couldn't explain it, not even to himself but the small child he had found alone and hurt in the wilds had somehow evoked a fierce protectiveness within him and although he had not know the child long he found that he cared deeply for the boy.

It had been for those reasons that he had agreed to teach the child about the previous war with Sauron, although he admitted that agreed to teach might not have been the most accurate summary. Truth be told he had informed Gandalf that the child needed to know and the wizard had agreed, albeit with the caveat that Aragorn did not tell the child of all the horrors that war had brought. It was an amendment Aragorn had no trouble agreeing to.

While he knew the child needed to know the basics, to not know them would be dangerous, he had no intention of marring the innocence the child had left with an account of the full horrors of the war. No, all Elion needed was to know the basics, to be able to identify what would be dangerous and to understand, if he was going to be brought to a secret council – a decision he was not happy about – why such things were secret and must remain so.

They reached the Hall and Aragorn was not surprised to see that they were alone. He had come here often in his youth, and apart from rare occasions he had always been the only one there. It had been after he had been informed of his place in this history and as it had done then, the Hall evoked emotions of guilt, regret and fear within him. He was Isildur's heir and prey to the same weakness that he corrupted his forefather and he knew such a weakness now could see the war and Middle Earth lost.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a soft gasp of surprise. He glanced down and he saw Elion gazing around the room in wonder as the child took in all the tapestries and paintings that depicted the war against Sauron and then watched as the boy's mouth fell open as he took in the sight of the shards of Narsil and the painting hanging opposite it.

Aragorn watched as Elion stared at the sword for a moment, the child tilting his head in thought, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. The ranger had to suppress a smile at the look on the child's face. "Why is the sword broken?" Elion asked, confusing coating his voice as emerald eyes looked up at Aragorn, waiting for the answer.

Aragorn didn't answer the question immediately, instead he led the child to the farthest painting which depicted the start of the Second Age. "It is a long story little one," he said quietly, "And a sad one but it starts nearly 6000 years ago..."

Elion listened, spellbound, as Aragorn patiently taught and explained the basic history of the second age, from the rise of Sauron and the forging of the rings of power to his eventual defeat. He could tell that the ranger was not going into detail of the battles and that he was dulling the details somewhat however Elion didn't mind. He had more than enough experience of a war to fill in what Aragorn was not telling him and he couldn't help but feel grateful that the ranger cared enough to try not to frighten him while still explaining the seriousness of the situation. He wasn't used to people trying to protect him, and it was far easier to accept the protection now. He knew he was only six physically and he could admit that though he was eighteen, he was behaving more and more like a child the longer he stayed in Middle Earth.

However, no matter how calmly Aragorn explained the history Elion couldn't prevent the dread that rose in him. It was obvious that Sauron was a terrible enemy, worse than Voldemort in many ways and he had put the pieces together. The ring Frodo had was the same ring that Sauron had had, and it was Sauron who the war was going to be fought against and he knew that Aragorn and the hobbits were going to be in the thick of the fighting and he had enough experience with battle to know that the chances of them all surviving were slight.

He was almost relieved when a second man entered the hall for it distracted him from the direction his thoughts were taking although fear and wariness sprung up within him instantly. Aragorn stopped talking and Elion felt the ranger's hand come down to rest on his shoulder before he was drawn back to Aragorn's side, his back pressing against the ranger's legs and the hand on his shoulder holding him close, protectively.

Elion glanced up, taking in the slightly darker tint in the ranger's eyes and the almost challenging look that was in them as he gazed at the newcomer. There was a subtle undercurrent as the ranger watched the other man, his clothing proclaiming him to be of high status, and although his face was blank Elion could easily see it and he felt the slight tightening of Aragorn's hand on his shoulder when the man turned and saw them.

"_You are no elf." _The words were incredulous and slightly wary and although Elion was pleased he understood the Common, he couldn't help but press a little closer to the ranger.

He only caught snatches of the next couple of sentences, and despite the fact Aragorn's voice was completely level Elion could detect the tenseness in the ranger's movements through the hand that was still resting on his shoulder.

"_Friend," _The word was said slowly, and wariness was still clearly present in the stranger's voice and Elion kept his eyes fixed on the man as he walked towards the broken sword, Narsil Aragorn had called it, and lifted the largest shard. He winced slightly when he saw the blood bead on the man's finger but that was forgotten as the stranger looked at them once more, his eyes travelling across Aragorn's face, down to Elion and back to Aragorn once more as they widened slightly.

He said something harshly in Common and the sword clattered to the ground, the sound loud in the otherwise silent hall as the man turned and stalked out. Aragorn waited for a moment, not relinquishing his grip on Elion's shoulder until the man had left the hall completely. Then the ranger glanced down at him and it was easy for the child to read the message there, wait here.

Elion watched as Aragorn crossed the hall in a few swift steps, picking up the sword hilt almost reverently and laying it back on its pedestal before he stepped back, his eyes lingering on the sword.

"Why do you fear the past?"

It was all Elion could do to prevent himself from jumping into the air and snapping off a spell. He hadn't heard the elf approach and her voice had caught him completely by surprise and he had reacted in the same way he would back in his old world. There any potential sound could be the next threat, however he was glad he had prevented himself from casting when he realised the elf was the same elf that had brought Frodo to Rivendell and from the way Aragorn was acting she wasn't a threat.

"You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate."

Elion didn't register Aragorn's reply, his mind stuck on what the elf had just revealed. Aragorn had taught him enough history for him to know that Isildur had been the King of Gondor after Sauron's initial defeat, and for Aragorn to be his heir meant that he was a prince at least, if not a king. Elion couldn't quite wrap his mind around it, Aragorn, who had to be important in this world had been looking after him. He couldn't work out why, he was just a child, nobody special but Aragorn had treated him with kindness and never pushed him away. But why would a prince or a king bother with an annoyance and burden like him?

He broke out of his thoughts when he heard Aragorn say, "The shadows grow darker and the way is hidden from me. I see little hope."

Elion didn't know what impulse drove him but before he had fully registered what he was doing he had crossed the room and he hugged the ranger. He knew exactly how it felt to go into a war feeling lost and hopeless but knowing still that you had to fight and he wouldn't have wished that on anyone. He couldn't take the burden away from Aragorn but he knew how heavy a burden it was and how much it hurt. Aragorn had been so kind to him and he wanted to be able to repay him in the only way he could, with the simple acceptance and affection of a child.

Above him Aragorn exchanged a glance with Arwen, who was looking down at the child who had attached himself to the ranger's waist with a soft smile on her face. A smile rose on Aragorn's lips as he returned the hug, feeling a little of his fear disappear in the face of Elion's innocence and simple kindness. His heart lightened further as Arwen placed a light hand on his arm and her eyes conveyed without words her love and support for him.

* * *

Elion looked at the wizard, his brow furrowed as he stared at him, before looking down to the orb he held in his hand. After breakfast that morning Aragorn had brought him to come and see Gandalf and between them they had explained that he needed to be taught how to control his powers through a focus and why his magic would make him a target for the Enemy. They had also explained that he would be Gandalf's apprentice although they had not answered when he asked where he was going to live, their only answer "It depends on the Council."

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. On one hand he didn't mind being the wizard's apprentice, Gandalf certainly seemed kind and he hadn't tried to hurt him and Elion knew he needed to be taught how to use a focus but the more childish part of him rebelled. They hadn't specified precisely what would happen after the council and he got the sense they didn't know but Elion realised it was likely he would soon be parting from Aragorn and he didn't want that to happen. Intellectually he knew it was inevitable but that didn't mean he had to like it. He wanted to stay with the ranger. Aragorn was the only person who he trusted and he knew the ranger was kind to him, even though he was a king and Elion was just a child.

A gasp slipped through his lips as the orb in his hand suddenly glowed. Currently Gandalf was helping him to find and make a preliminary focus. It wouldn't be his final focus the old Istar had explained, he would have to craft other focuses as he grew and a staff when he reached maturity but he needed one now to start getting him accustomed to wielding focussed magic.

He took a step forward, following the glowing orb until he reached a tree with beautiful white blossoms. Gandalf had followed him and when Elion paused the wizard leaned forward, "A Lairelossë branch," he said, "Run your magic through the tree until you find a branch that resonates with magic," Gandalf instructed, "An once you've found it, use your magic to break the branch off."

Elion frowned at the instruction, how on earth did he run his magic through the tree? Gandalf saw the confusion on his face, "Place your hand on the bark," he told him quietly, "And then call your magic up through your hand and let it run through the tree, you will know when a branch resonates."

Elion was still confused but he placed his free hand on the bark nevertheless and closed his eyes as he tried to work out how to call the magic to his hand. He bit his lip as he concentrated, he didn't really know where to start and although he was trying everything he could think of nothing worked and it was getting frustrating. He had never been the most patient of people and he was discovering that his impatience, along with his curiosity had only been magnified when he had become a child.

He opened his eyes and glared at the tree in front of him. Why wasn't anything working? He glared more fiercely, a hint of a pout forming on his face when suddenly he felt a tug deep inside him and a rush of energy sped down his arm and out of his palm. His magic sang as it flowed into the tree, twisting and searching and Elion laughed with the sheer joy and thrill the magic inspired in him.

His breath caught in his throat and he realised what Gandalf had meant about knowing. A peculiar jolt ran through his body as his magic touched one of the outstretched boughs, he could feel the branch, it pulsed in time with his heartbeat and his magic raced along it, covering the bough in golden and emerald sparks. With a muttered, "Diffindo," the branch came away cleanly from the tree and dropped into his outstretched hand.

Elion ran his fingers along it, the branch was smooth and about the length of his arm and he could feel his magic reacting to it but there was an incompleteness to it, a slight sense that there was something wrong. He turned to look at the old wizard, a question in his eyes but Gandalf merely gestured to the orb. Quickly Elion picked it up and this time there was scarcely a wait before it glowed once more and led him to a tree that he actually recognised.

He placed his hand on the trunk of the yew tree, being careful to avoid the poisonous berries and let his magic flow into the tree, laughing once more as his magic danced in his veins. Another cutting spell later and a long thin branch lay in his palm. He didn't have to ask Gandalf for the next step, his magic was humming in the wood and his instincts were guiding him.

Carefully he stripped the leaves from both branches and then he carefully twisted the thin springy yew branch around the thicker stem of pale white Lairelossë. His magic flowed through the woods continuously and once the yew had been completely twisted the branched glowed golden and when the light dissipated the two woods had fused together leaving a single staff the length of his arm with the darker wood twisted along its length.

Elion grasped it firmly and the breath left his lungs as his magic surged through it and a bright light burst from the tip and he had to close his eyes against the brightness. A few seconds later the light faded and Elion blinked, trying to remove the after image of the brightness from his eyes. He glanced behind him and he saw that both Gandalf and Aragorn who had been watching him were shielding their eyes with their hands and blinking.

"Sorry," he murmured self consciously, twisting the staff nervously between his fingers but Gandalf merely chuckled.

"I should have warned you, such a reaction is to be expected when bonding with a new staff."

Elion couldn't think of a response to that so he just nodded before turning his attention back to the staff in his hands. It was very different to his old wand and it felt different in his hands too but he had no doubt that it was just as powerful a tool and it would be just as loyal.

* * *

Elion had to force himself to stop fidgeting as the members of the council gathered. He was seated between Gandalf and Frodo and he felt extremely out of place. He knew everyone else here was extremely important in some way to Middle Earth and he was just a child. He wasn't supposed to be here and the chair beneath him was made of stone and really quite uncomfortable.

There were only two things preventing him from getting up and running back to hide in his room, or maybe play with Merry and Pippin if he could find them. Firstly was his curiosity, he knew this meeting was important and while he didn't want to fight he didn't want to be out of the loop either and secondly he knew that if he did leave Aragorn would be disappointed in him. Gandalf would too he supposed, but while he didn't want to disobey Gandalf because he wasn't yet sure that the man wasn't going to hurt him if he disobeyed, he didn't want to disappoint Aragorn because he wanted the ranger to see that he wasn't a burden and that he was worth looking after. And for some reason, that he couldn't explain even to himself he wanted the ranger to be proud of him.

A sigh threatened to escape when Lord Elrond spoke and he realised that the council was going to be conducted in the common tongue. While he was getting better thanks to the hobbits' lessons and the occasional input from Aragorn and Gandalf he didn't understand nearly enough to be able to follow the conversation. He was mentally trying to set him up for several hours of boredom when an idea came to him.

One of the OWL charms had been a translation charm. It wasn't really used much outside of the Auror corps because it only worked for a couple of hours before it needed to be recast and it only allowed someone to understand what was being spoken rather than allowing them to speak the language. However it would work very well for this council although Elion knew he would have to learn Common properly but he enjoyed the hobbits' lessons so it wouldn't be a chore.

"Agnosco," he murmured under his breath, being careful to ensure he wasn't holding the staff. The reaction that the staff had whenever he tried to use magic through it was almost always more than he wanted and he didn't want people to know he was using magic however that was lost when Gandalf looked down sternly at him. Elion shifted in his seat, a guilty expression crossing his face even as he tensed but Gandalf merely shook his head slightly, the corners of his lips twitching before turning back to the council.

Warily Elion watched the Istar for several minutes before he was convinced the man was not about to hurt him before turning his attention back to the council.

"Bring forth the ring Frodo,"

Elion's eyes were wide as he took in the simple ring. It seemed so simple, so plain but even from here he could feel its presence, the pulsing whispering voice that urged nothing but evil. He flinched, his mind travelling back to the horcruxes and the horcrux he had carried within him, for just like those horcruxes the Ring had a mind of its own, a searching evil that attempted to possess you and corrupt you. The memories swirled in his head, pain, darkness, the anger of the locket and above all the creeping insidious voice that slipped into your consciousness and destroyed everything you held dear.

He was pulled out of his memories by the voice of the tall man he had seen in the Hall of the Second Age, "Let us use this gift," he was saying passionately, "Let us turn Sauron's weapon against him."

"No!" He had cried out before he could think about what he was doing and instantly every eye in the council turned to him. Elion flushed under the scrutiny, fidgeting in his seat but he plucked up the courage to keep speaking.

"It can't be used," he explained haltingly, and he heard Gandalf translate his words into Common, "They can't be fought. It gets inside you and it whispers and twists and corrupts until you don't exist anymore. It destroys you and uses you and casts you aside and it hurts." Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of Ginny possessed by the diary and later in the war, discovering Ron had found the final horcrux but they were too late. It had already taken over Ron completely, there was nothing left of his friend and he had been forced to kill his own friend, no, his brother.

The tears threatened to fall and angrily he swiped them away. "It can't do anything but destroy and it will use you until there is nothing left and you can't trust anyone and your own brother doesn't recognise you." His voice cracked on the last sentence and he sat down with one final whisper, "Don't use it, you can't."

There was a long silence. Elion wiped his eyes on his sleeves, refusing to look at anyone in the council. He hadn't meant to speak but even though he didn't know the people sitting on the council he didn't want them to go through what he and his friends had been forced to and he couldn't let them sit there and talk about using it when he knew it would only lead to pain and death.

"Elion is right," Aragorn said eventually, "It cannot be used."

"And what," sneered the man although Elion could see the shock in his face, "Would a ranger or a child know of this matter?"

Elion heard an elf rise and defend both Aragorn and himself but his mind was back in the past and it was only when Elrond spoke that he came back to the present. "The Ring must be destroyed," he told them, "Taken into the very heart of Mordor and cast into Mount Doom."

Elion couldn't follow the argument that followed, the translation spell unable to keep up with the multitude of voices that were all arguing and shouting but he saw when the resolve flashed in Frodo's eyes and he heard the hobbit's quiet voice rise above the din, slowly silencing the crowd.

"I will take it. I will take the ring."

For a sudden brief moment Elion saw himself in Frodo and continuing in that moment of clarity he realised that it was on Frodo's shoulders the largest burden of this war would fall and pity welled up in him that was only intensified as he continued.

"Though, I do not know the way."

"I will help you bear this burden," Gandalf said softly, "As long as it is yours to bear." Elion watched as Gandalf placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and knowing he was supposed to be going with Gandalf Elion slipped off his seat and took a couple of steps to the hobbit. He smiled at him and slipped his small hand into Frodo's, letting the hobbit know without words that he would help as much as he could.

Aragorn came next, kneeling and offering his sword to Frodo, and Elion couldn't help the joy that rose up in him as he realised that he wasn't going to be parted with Aragorn yet. Soon an elf and a dwarf joined them only to be followed by the man that had been talking about using it. Unconsciously Elion shifted until he was standing between them. He was wary of the man, more so than he was of the elf and dwarf and he was not going to let him get close to the Ring, he did not trust him with the temptation and he wanted to protect Frodo.

Elion had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing when first Sam then Merry and Pippin appeared and joined them. The action was just so familiar, and so much what he would have expected that he couldn't help the giggles that tried to force themselves out.

"So be it," said Elrond, and for the first time in the council his voice held some hope. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring." However his eyes darkened when he looked down at Elion and a glance was shared between Elrond and Gandalf and suddenly Elion knew that what would happen to him now had just become a subject of contention.

* * *

**AN: **And here is the next one, hope you all enjoy it, and yes, the translation spell is my own invention but you probably won't see it used again, or at least not often, and yes the latin does mean something to do with understanding but I can't remember the exact translation.

Thanks for all the support, reviews, favs, follows etc and please continue to review and support this fic.

Now for a certain cheeky reviewer who knows precisely who she is, I was rather amused and flattered by your review, although if you do made any similar requests in the future you will need to include your timezone in said review else how on earth can I know when your 8am falls in relation to the Greenwich Meridian? Though I do hope I made it :)!


	10. Chapter 9

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 9**

"Have you lost your mind?" Aragorn demanded, pacing agitatedly across the floor in front of the old wizard. "You intend to bring Elion with the Fellowship, taking him into the heart of the war when he is a young child!"

"It must be done Aragorn," Gandalf told the ranger, "I share your disquiet about taking Elion with us but it must be done if he is to remained concealed from both Sauron and Saruman,"

"You intend to conceal him by taking him into the heart of Mordor? I may know little of magic old friend but even magic could not keep him safe there." There was a dark sarcasm in Aragorn's voice as he ruthlessly made his point.

Gandalf sighed, "I talk of concealing his presence rather than his body. Elion has a magical presence for want of a better term and for those of us who can sense such things he burns as brightly as a beacon, and every piece of magic he does is like a fire in the wildness. Such a presence would not go unnoticed by Sauron or Saruman and then they would come for him and there is no telling the destruction and death that could be wrought if they caught him. By keeping him with me, my own magic can hide his. His presence would be lost in mine, for mine is stronger than his at the moment and it will keep him hidden and safe, for anyone searching will only see mine."

The wizard paused, resignation settling in his eyes, "And it is even more imperative that he comes with us for the Nazgul saw what he could do and I have no doubt that the Enemy already knows of his existence. They will be looking for him, Sauron will seek any chance of turning an Istar to his side and if he is found torment awaits him in the dungeons of Barad-dûr."

Aragorn's fists clenched and a flash of pain and fury crossed his face as he thought of the torture that Elion would be placed under if captured and he bit out the next words,

"Neither Elion or Frodo will ever see those sights if I have breath left in my body."

"By bringing the child with us I can ensure he remains hidden for as long as possible and I can teach, give him the skills to protect himself and hide without bringing the Enemy straight to him. Even if I am lost he will still be protected as his presence will be assumed to be mine."

"I do not like it." Aragorn said, "He has seen too much already and I fear he has already encountered the ring. It burdens my heart to think of any child in the war, but most of all Elion. He has had so little childhood and his eyes are too old. But choosing between his life and safety and his innocence I will always go for his life and safety. But I must be sure, is there no other way to keep him safe?"

He pinned the wizard with his eyes, demanding an honest answer and for a moment Gandalf saw a hint of the power Aragorn would wield as king, the power he did not yet feel he had earned but still possessed.

"There is no other way," Gandalf said solemnly, "Saruman is a traitor and I would not trust Radagast with a child. He is a good man but his attention is on animals and I fear he would lose the child rather than protect him, and if the Enemy were to trace Elion there, he would not last long against the might of Mordor. And who knows, the Valar sent him here for a reason. He may have role none could foresee before the end."

Aragorn let out a breath, "If there is truly no other option I will not fight you on this, however I believe Lord Elrond also wishes to speak with you on this matter."

The Istar grimaced before clambering to his feet and heading towards the Elf Lord's study. Aragorn waited until the wizard had left before crossing over to the balcony and leaning on the railing as he looked over the city, though his eyes strayed to a small garden where he could see the four hobbits and Elion embroiled in some form of game of their own invention. The sounds of laughter reached his ears and he couldn't help the sad smile that rose on his face.

They were all so carefree, out of the five of them only Frodo and Elion had any idea of the dangers this journey would bring. Frodo for the fact he had already carried the burden of the Ring for months and Elion for his captivity and his experience of war. But nonetheless none of them were fighters, regardless of Elion's magic and he knew they would need protection and support when the reality of war crashed down on them or their burdens grew too heavy to carry alone. And just perhaps, their own purity and simple presence in the Fellowship could be what they needed to remind them why they fought.

* * *

Despite the decision taken by the council it was still a month before the Fellowship departed, Elion amongst them. Lord Elrond had wanted to send out scouts to ensure that their path, at least until they reached the domains of men was not barricaded and it was only when those scouts had returned and reported the way was clear that the party made preparations to depart.

Elion knew that there had been many arguments between Gandalf, the elves and Aragorn about whether he should accompany the Fellowship but eventually Gandalf had won because it was genuinely the safer option. Elion was glad he was going with the Fellowship, he didn't have to leave Aragorn and he wanted to be able to help Frodo as much as he could, for he knew the hobbit would need support before the end much like he himself had done. For although Middle Earth was different to his original world, the burden Frodo was carrying was one he was far too familiar with and he would not have wished such a burden on his worst enemy and as Frodo was his friend he would do anything he could to help him.

The month in Rivendell had also allowed him to get to know the others in the Fellowship, and while he was still closest to Aragorn and he trusted the ranger more than any other, he had got to know the hobbits, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli well and he had gradually warmed up to them. He didn't trust any of them completely but he was reassured that they were good people and they didn't want to hurt him and he knew that with time he would trust them like he trusted Aragorn.

However his wariness around Boromir had not decreased but rather it had increased in potency. The man had not disguised the contempt he felt for the child and that had immediately raised Elion's hackles. He knew he was a child but it didn't mean he was helpless and stupid, he had seen war and fought in one on the front line, he knew what the ring could do and he wasn't naive. But it was also Boromir's attitude toward the ring that unsettled him. Several times Elion had seen a contemplative look in his eyes and he knew that if the man got hold of the ring it would corrupt him easily. The suggestion was already there and that worried him.

But in Rivendell it had been hard to hold onto his misgivings, at least during the day. There had been so much to do. The hobbits had continued to teach him Common and by now Elion could understand and follow most speech and he was gradually beginning to speak it, although he was still far from fluent and there had been magic lessons from Gandalf as he slowly tried to learn how to wield his staff. It had been slow going, the magic was far different from what he was used to but he was beginning to grasp it, although he made sure that he continued to practice his own magic so as not to forget.

But though his days had been filled with lessons, fun and laughter the nights were a different story. He had been able to bottle his grief and worries in the day but they back-lashed into nightmares, of the war he had just fought, of the war he was going into and throughout them all the spectres of the ring and the horcruxes haunted his nightmares. Nearly every night he had woken screaming and crying but every night Aragorn had been there, holding him close until his cries stopped before gently tucking him back into bed and waiting until he fell asleep.

Aragorn had shown Elion more care and kindness than he had ever received from an adult before and Elion found himself becoming very attached to the ranger. He had been the first person he had met in this new world and in the weeks Elion had spent here he had become closer to the ranger. Aragorn was the only person he trusted virtually completely and he was the person Elion went to for comfort and reassurance and the person who cared for him and looked after him, not that the elves didn't try to, but Aragorn was the person Elion trusted and often was the only person who he would allow near him, particularly after a nightmare.

He glanced over his shoulder and a smile lit up his face as he saw the ranger walking a few meters behind him. They had set out from Rivendell this morning and it was now approaching late afternoon. They were travelling mainly on foot although Elion was perched on the pack pony, although he did walk with them for short peiods because although he wouldn't slow them unduly as the hobbits legs were only slightly longer than his own, it had been pointed out he did not have the stamina to walk all day so for periods he rode.

Rivendell was already out of sight but Elion wasn't surprised. He knew it was easily possible to walk fifteen miles a day and he watched as Aragorn strode to the front and talked briefly to Gandalf, and from the gestures they made Elion assumed they were talking about where to set up camp. He was grateful at the thought the first day would soon be coming to an end because although he had ridden for part of the day he was still tired and achy and sore and he could see that the hobbits too were flagging.

It was no more than an hour or so late that Gandalf called the halt. They had reached a small thicket on the side of a hill and Elion could make out the flash of water from a stream that wound round the base. The trees would provided shelter and firewood and the stream fresh water, and Elion knew they had been lucky to find such a place to camp and he could not assume their luck would hold when they got further from Rivendell.

Elion bit his lip to stop a whimper escaping when his feet touched the ground. Aragorn had helped him off the pony for he was still too small to get on and off the pony safely and his aching muscles protested as he forced them to move. He wanted to just curl up and sleep but he knew he couldn't yet and anyway sore muscles weren't that bad, he had certainly had worse although that didn't mean he liked it.

He was about to go and help Frodo collect firewood when suddenly a thought came to him and he turned heading for Gandalf. Boromir had been quietly ribbing him about children not being a use and he suddenly knew just how to prove he would be useful, even if he was just a child. He reached Gandalf and seeing that the wizard was staring at something only he could see Elion tugged lightly on his robes to get his attention.

"Elion?" The wizard asked, curiousity and annoyance mixed in his tone.

"I know how to set protective spells around a camp," Elion said quietly, his eyes fixed on his shoes, "Can I put them up?"

Instantly the wizard sat upright, his eyes alert. "What things would these spells of yours do?" He demanded, "And how much magic would they use?"

"They would prevent anyone from seeing or hearing anything from the camp if they were outside it and if anything strayed past a certain point they would try to repel them or at least warn us." He was very familiar with wards, in the war if your wards weren't good and you couldn't put them up every night you were dead. "And they won't take much magic. I can get it back overnight." He didn't usually talk that much, he was still very shy around people but he knew when it came to his magic it was easiest just to tell Gandalf what it would do immediately, otherwise he would be questioned for hours and forced to say more.

Gandalf considered it for a moment, his eyes focussing on something that Elion couldn't see before he nodded, "Do it, but ensure you are letting as little extra magic escape as possible."

Frowning in concentration Elion started to walk around the boundary of the camp, casting the familiar spells every five meters, "Muffilato, Tego conspicio, Concutio." He knew more protective spells but the vast majority had been focussed on repelling spell-fire rather than physical attacks and were therefore of little use in a world, where as Gandalf explained, magic users were extremely rare.

However by the time he had finished warding the entire camp he was very grateful that he hadn't needed to cast the other spells as he could feel the drain on his magic which only made his tiredness worse. It had been the first time he had attempted to cast such protections without the help of a wand because he was wary of using his staff as he couldn't control the magic that escaped when he cast with it. He could only occasionally make it do the correct spells but Gandalf told him that a lot of extra magic was released when he cast with it and that it would act like a beacon and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to the Fellowship.

He wanted to sit down and curl up but his instincts not to be a burden and a nuisance were stronger than his fatigue and he knew that Boromir at least was determined to think that he was a burden, and he wanted to prove the man wrong. Therefore Elion forced himself to head for the thicket and scour the ground for firewood, heaping his arms with as much as he could carry before staggering back to the camp and depositing each armful.

It was on his third trip into the thicket when Elion suddenly became aware of the presence of somebody beside him. He turned slowly, his hands automatically coming up in front of him, ready to cast if need be only to come face to face with Boromir. Elion didn't relax his guard, rather his wariness sprung up, burning strongly. He could count on one hand the number of times Boromir had actually talked to him and all those times had been dismissive. If Boromir was coming to talk or help him Elion was extremely suspicious of why, a suspicion that only increased when the man laughed.

"Such wariness," Boromir scoffed lightly, "It is out of place on your face little one. What could a child see that would cause it?"

Elion felt a rage grow inside him, Boromir knew nothing of his past but was mocking him. "They can see their parents murdered in front of them," He said quietly, his voice level but Boromir could clearly hear the anger and distress, "Be forced to fight for everything they care about and see their home destroyed, friends betrayed and killed. They can be hurt and tortured by those they were supposed to trust and be forced to kill." His voice cracked and he struggled to keep his mask in place, trying to keep all his grief, anger and pain bottled up where they couldn't be seen.

Impossibly wide emerald eyes stared up at the Gondorian who was looking at the child in pure unadulterated shock but Elion was not yet done. "Children can know war and death and pain just as much as any adult." His eyes were shadowed as his mind flew back through all the people he had known and had lost and all those who had died at his hand.

For a long moment there was silence then Boromir reached down and grabbed Elion's arm. The man did not hold him tightly or attempt to hurt him but Elion couldn't stop the flinch as he automatically jerked backwards and started to struggle. "Calm down child. I'm not going to hurt you." There was irritation in his voice but a commanding tone and reluctantly Elion stopped, although it partially because he knew it wouldn't have any effect as he was only a small child and Boromir was a fully grown warrior and far stronger than he was.

"You were describing yourself weren't you?" He demanded quietly. When Elion refused to answer the Gondorian nodded knowledgeably, "I thought so, you spoke with too much knowledge on the council and your eyes are too old. Tell me, what happened to your brother, with the ring?"

"He died." Elion's voice was flat but tears were beginning to prick in his eyes and he raised his free hand to wipe them aside. He was not going to show weakness in front of Boromir, not when he didn't trust him. However Boromir saw the movement and something akin to pity flared in his eyes, but Elion still needed to make him understand. He didn't like the man but he would not wish Ron's fate on anyone, even Voldemort or Sauron.

"It killed him."

Boromir gasped and released his arm and Elion took the opportunity to hurry back to the camp and dump his load of wood on the pile, swiping at the traitorous tears as he went. He saw Boromir come out of the thicket a little behind him, and noticing that the rest of the Fellowship were engaged in relaxed or domestic tasks and that there was plenty of wood Elion quickly headed over to Aragorn.

The ranger was carefully cleaning his weapons with a rag, a process Elion knew he did every time they stopped for the night and Elion slipped down beside him, curling up against Aragorn's side. The conversation had dredged up memories he didn't want to see, that he wanted to forget and something deep in him had made him seek out Aragorn, seeking the comfort the older man could offer just by his presence.

The ranger smiled down at the child and Elion smiled shyly back. His smile widened when Aragorn shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on his sword so he could reach around and wrap his arm around Elion's shoulders, bringing the child close as he continued to clean and check his weaponry. Slowly Elion felt himself relax in the safe haven that Aragorn's half embrace provided, the ranger's presence soothing the seething emotions in his mind.

Elion stayed curled up against Aragorn until the meal was ready and although Aragorn had finished cleaning his weapons before then he hadn't made any move to push Elion away. Rather he had sat, smoking his pipe and watching as Merry and Pippin trained with Boromir with amusement even as he kept the child close to his side, his eyes occasionally flicking down in concern but he didn't press Elion for details and for that Elion was grateful.

The meal passed quickly, Sam appeared to have been designated the official cook by the hobbits at least and the rest of the Fellowship had no issues with the designation. Sam made a very good stew. Mostly the meal passed in laughter, and Elion was unable to contain his giggles as he watched Merry and Pippin, or listened to Gimili's grumblings about "Pointy eared elvish princlings," however he studiously avoided Boromir's eyes although he saw that the man was looking at him throughout the meal. He had no desire to have another confrontation with the man, the first had dredged up enough painful memories.

It was Aragorn who noticed his yawning first, "Bed," the ranger commanded. Elion didn't protest, he could feel how tired he was and he didn't want to make Aragorn mad. Obediently he fetched his bedroll and unrolled it on the piece of ground that was his for the night and snuggled up in it. Aragorn smiled down at him and pulled the bedroll up a bit higher, tucking Elion in securely.

Elion couldn't help the smile that rose on his face at the simple gesture of affection and Aragorn smiled at him in return before heading back to the fire and settling down, a stream of smoke drifting from his pipe. Elion burrowed deeper into his blankets, suddenly aware of just how exhausted he was when he had a sudden thought. Although he had warded the camp he knew he still had nightmares and even if they couldn't be heard by their enemies and alert them to their location his screams would still wake everyone up.

He bit his lip but then a solution came to him, silencing spells worked very well on a single person and they took hardly any magic, he was sure he'd be able to cast one without letting any magic escape, even with the amount he had already used. "Silencio," he murmured under his breath and in the next moment the spell took hold and he curled up in his bedroll even as his eyes grew heavy and a few moments later he was first asleep.

* * *

It was midway through the second watch when Legolas noticed there was something wrong. Gandalf had taken them aside and explained precisely what protections Elion had placed on the camp but they were still mounting the watches for several reasons. Firstly, while they trusted the child they were still unsure of precisely what the protections would do and whether they would work against all creatures, although Legolas could testify that they certainly worked against animals, including a single wolf that had come exploring but had turned away at some invisible line.

Secondly they had agreed it was a sensible precaution to always have someone awake and alert, not only would they raise the alarm of any attack before the protections would, if something within the camp went wrong they would be there to deal with it. And lastly, they would all feel more secure with someone actually on watch. Even Gandalf had admitted that he knew little of the type of magic that Elion seemed to wield naturally, with the incantations meaning nothing to the aged Istar and they would not trust the safety of the ringbearer to magic alone.

However, while there was no sign of a threat outside the camp Legolas's eyes were drawn to a disturbance within the camp. His hand went instantly to his bow and he rose silently to his feet. He could see one of the bedrolls thrashing frantically but there was no sound save for the night sounds and the sound of fabric moving. His instincts prickled as he moved nearly noiselessly closer, what caused someone to thrash frantically but they emitted no sound?

His hands rested on his knife hilt as he drew close enough to see the disturbance clearly, for even elves could not see clearly in the darkness his feeling that there was something wrong intensified. Elion was thrashing, his limbs writhing and his mouth was open in a scream even as tears flooded down his cheeks yet not a single sound came from the child. It wasn't natural, and Legolas was well aware of the reasons that Elion was accompanying them, as much as he deplored the idea that a child would be exposed to war and danger.

And it seemed danger had already found him. Quickly the elf ran across the camp and woke Gandalf, rousing the other warriors as he headed back to the child's side. The child was being attacked, that much seemed to be clear but the attacker was either invisible or mental or magical and such attacks were only in the power of either Sauron, Saruman or the Nazgul and swords and arrows could not harm a non-corporal foe.

Gandalf rose fast, his hand flying to his stave as he strode across the clearing to the thrashing child. After a minute he drew back, fear in his expression, "There is magic on him," he reported tersely, "But it resists all attempt to counter it." He raised his staff again, his brow furrowed as incantations poured from his lips but nothing had an effect until the child bolted upright, soundless gasps coming through his teeth, emerald eyes wide with tears still flooding down his face.

By now the entire Fellowship was awake and crowding round the child and Legolas watched as the child's eyes widened and he shrunk back even though tremors still wracked through the thin frame. Legolas exchanged a glance with Aragorn and without a word the rest of the fellowship stepped back slightly, giving the child more space as it was obvious he was frightened, while Aragorn moved forward, crouching in front of the child.

"Elion?" He asked quietly, "Elion can you understand me?"

The child nodded and leaned into Aragorn's outstretched hand, some of the tenseness leaving his body as the contact although his tears did not abate. Aragorn paused slightly, his eyes scanning the child to ensure that whatever had been attacking him had gone before he drew the child into his arms. Elion went willingly, burying his face in Aragorn's tunic and no more than a minute later they could clearly hear the sound of soft sobs.

Legolas let out a breath at the confirmation that whatever had been attacking the child had passed and he saw the rest of the Fellowship trade relieved glances before Boromir started to urge the hobbits to return to their rest. However Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf and Boromir remained, watching both Aragorn and Elion as the child's sobs slowly gave way to whimpers and then finally silence.

It was only then that Aragorn straightened and stood, although Elion remained in his arms, clinging to his tunic with his face buried in the material. "What happened little one?" Aragorn asked quietly, the others content to leave the questioning to him as it was painfully obvious that Elion had been terrified and they knew Aragorn was the one the child trusted the most.

"It was just a nightmare." The child replied, confusion obvious in his voice.

"There was a magical presence," Aragorn informed him quietly, "Gandalf couldn't dispel it."

To their astonishment a blush crept up onto Elion's face and he fidgeted guiltily in Aragorn's, "I cast a spell before I went to sleep," he confessed softly, "I didn't want to wake everyone up with my screaming so I cast a spell to stop the sound escaping. That was why there was magic."

"I am presuming this was one of your own spells?" Gandalf said, a reprimand in his voice.

Elion just nodded, his head bowed. The wizard straightened up, "There was no harm done this time, you did not create a magical presence however you are not to cast any spells without permission aside from in a fight again understood?"

"Yes sir," Elion said, guilt written plainly across his features, "And I'm sorry for waking you. I was trying not to wake anyone." The Istar regarded the child for a moment before he too nodded and looked at Aragorn.

The ranger turned and gently laid Elion down on his bedroll, "Go back to sleep little one," he instructed.

Elion curled up in his bedroll before looking at Gandalf, "Can I cast the silencing spell again?" he asked and after a moments contemplation Gandalf gave his permission. The whole Fellowship was aware of how loud Elion could be during a nightmare and such a sound would certainly wake the camp, even if they weren't sure if it would travel through the spells Elion had cast.

With a twitch of his wrist all sound from the child suddenly cut off and slowly his eyes closed as Aragorn coaxed him back to slumber. After a few moments he straightened, a troubled look on his face and came to stand by Legolas who was regarding the child with a mixture of sorrow and pain. "What does he dream of that causes such nightmares?" He asked his friend quietly. He had known Aragorn for years, since the ranger was a child in Rivendell, and he had hardly seen the troubled look that now graced his friend's features.

"I do not know," Aragorn admitted, "Save that the child has been treated cruelly and he has known war and death before now. I can only speculate as to the horrors that keep him screaming every night." He paused before he laid a hand on Legolas's shoulder, "Wake me if you see him start thrashing again."

Legolas saw the protectiveness in his friend's eyes and he nodded. "I will Aragorn. It hurts to see him suffering so and knowing there is little I can do to ease his pain. He is so young."

"I know," Aragorn said softly, and they watched the child a little more before the ranger headed back to his bedroll and Legolas resumed his watch, and if his eyes strayed frequently to the child curled up in his bedroll it was because the expression of pain and terror he had seen on the child's face lingered in his memory.

* * *

**AN: *Peeks out from behind a pillar* Hi all, yes I know this is a week late but I'll just say that I've a very dodgy internet connection at the moment and I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Thanks for all the support and please review!**


	11. Chapter 10

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 10**

Elion glared at his staff in pure frustration. He had managed the original lessons Gandalf had set him but those lessons hadn't used his staff, rather they had been centred inwards, working directly with his power rather than trying to channel it through his staff. He knew how his magic worked, and ever since he had started to use his magic on Middle Earth he had found it easier to sense and control, presumably because he was performing spells wandlessly. However once Gandalf had decided he was apt enough at disguising and hiding his presence when he was not using his staff, he had moved him onto hiding his presence when he used the staff. Or at least that had been the plan.

They had been travelling for nearly two weeks now and they had currently set up camp against a cliff face, with towering rocks rising on three sides of them and with a spring bubbling up at the foot of one of the rocks. Legolas had looked round at the rocks, his expression distant and a touch wistful as he listened to something only he could hear and when Pippin plucked up the courage to ask him why he had told them that elves had once dwelt here and the rocks themselves still lamented their presence and vestiges of their power still clung to the rocks and holly bushes.

It was because of those vestiges of power that Gandalf had deemed it safe enough to have a lesson on damping his magic with his staff, for at the moment his control over his staff was poor and the power that still clung to these rocks could go some way to distorting any magic that leaked, thus helping to hide the performance of the magic or at least muting it enough that their lesson should go unnoticed. Because while his presence was hidden in Gandalf's, the performance of any kind of magic would attract attention, even if it was assumed to be Gandalf's and they did not want to draw others to them before magic was necessary.

However they had been working for nearly an hour now and Elion was becoming frustrated. He could wield his magic perfectly well without the staff but now he was trying to use it his results were erratic at best. Forget trying to dampen his magic at the moment he couldn't even get the staff to perform the spells he wanted it to do, struggling to cast even the most basic of spells. Sometimes his staff did not react, sometimes it reacted and produced an effect that was completely different to what he was trying to do and one that he had no control over.

Gandalf frowned as yet another spell went awry and a blast of water shot from Elion's staff, travelling nearly twenty meters before it reached the ground. "Why won't you just work?!" Elion demanded, his frustration obvious in his voice and he saw several of the Fellowship's lips twitch in amusement, and a couple – he thought it was Boromir and one of the hobbits - laughed. Elion turned his head and glared at them, although for some reason it just made them smile or laugh more.

Elion turned back to his staff, the beginnings of a pout forming on his face as he stared at the offending instrument. Why, why, why wasn't it working? He knew it could channel his magic, perhaps better than his wand had done but it kept on refusing to do anything he wanted it to. He could do this magic perfectly fine without a staff so why couldn't he do anything with his staff? He didn't have any answers and that didn't help his frustration.

He had been travelling all day, large parts on foot, he was tired and his staff was still refusing to do anything properly. He didn't want to be stuck doing a lesson with something that didn't work when he could do magic perfectly fine without it. Why did he have to learn to use this anyway, it was not as if he needed it and he wanted to play, and not do lessons on something he couldn't do!

"Elion," Gandalf's voice broke into the glaring match he was having with his staff and Elion looked down guiltily, shuffling his feet. He shouldn't have got irritated and angry, it was very good of Gandalf to teach him when he didn't have to be saddled with a child, even though it was still Aragorn who looked after him the majority of the time and he shouldn't repay that by being a burden and not trying to learn.

"I believe I know what the problem may be." At those words he looked up hopefully, if there was a problem it could be fixed and then he could actually use his staff properly.

"You are attempting to cast your own kind of magic through the staff correct?" Elion nodded, not really knowing where Gandalf was going with his questioning.

"Perhaps it is not working because the controls you place on your magic are not ones the staff recognises. It is certainly nothing I recognise or could control through my own, so perhaps you need to learn the magic I wield before you can control it."

Elion looked dubious, not really understanding why Gandalf's form of magic would work any differently from his own but it was worth trying to learn because at least it would mean he was learning something new and not trying to force his magic through a staff that wasn't working.

"My magic is very different from yours," Gandalf started to lecture and Elion sat, weary from the day's travel and the magic he had performed since, "For the majority of my magic I do not use any incantations, though for great works I must, rather I use my staff to funnel my magic and only once it is in the staff do I use my mind to shape it to my own purpose. However it is not an easy skill to learn but I believe it may aid your control. Now focus on your magic and bring it to the surface before letting it flow into your staff."

Elion considered the instruction carefully before closing his eyes and focussing his attention inwards, trying to find his magic, the same way he did to try and hide it and soon it was swirling before his consciousness. Slowly he let it rise to his skin, the control Gandalf had taught him paying off as he let it rise but prevented it from flowing outside his control but once it was dancing across his skin he opened his eyes, unsure of how to let it flow into his staff.

However he was nothing if not stubborn and he was not going to be the person that let the Fellowship down because he couldn't master this kind of magic, and he wasn't going to let anyone else be injured because of him, even if Frodo, the hobbits and Aragorn didn't blame him for Frodo's injury. His eyes narrowed as he focussed all his attention on his magic. He had to channel it into his staff and make it do what he wanted it to.

He searched for the magic in his staff and a slight smile rose on his face when he found it but it vanished a second later as he focussed harder on the task at hand. Now he had found the magic of his staff he just had to channel his own magic through it. But the task was harder than he thought and he tried again and again and again to focus his magic through it, but every time he tried to channel it through his staff he magic revolted, pushing back against him and he was forced to bring it back to the surface before trying again.

Moisture was gathering in his eyes, the result of a mixture of tiredness, frustration and shame at the knowledge that he was failing here too, as he was unable to learn the skills necessary to ensure that his friends, and perhaps even family although he hesitated in thinking that, were not hurt because of him. Anger rose in him then as he raised a hand to dash the moisture away, he had already lost one set of friends and family and he wasn't going to lose the people he had found here too!

Buoyed by his anger he focussed all his strength and attention at his staff and he allowed his magic to fill him in a rush, encouraging it to speed along his arm and into the hand grasping his staff and from that into the length of twisted wood. There was a pause, almost as if his magic had reached a barrier but before the tears had a chance to threaten once more the magic surged from his hand into his staff, filling it to the brim with his magic.

A smile began to grow on his lips but there was still something he had to do. He focussed his entire mind on the idea of light, whispering the command down to his magic and through to his staff, make light, make light, make light. A beam of light burst suddenly from the tip of his staff and Elion couldn't contain his cry of triumph but the beam vanished the next second as Elion's legs trembled, then gave way.

He heard the cry of alarm from several throats and he blinked tiredly as he pulled his legs up to his chest and tried to clamber back to his feet but Elion suddenly realised that he had been pushing himself too hard, in attempting to control his magic and do what Gandalf had explained he had been using his magic too hard and for too long and pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion. And the exhaustion combined with the tiredness he already had from the journey meant he wanted nothing more than food and sleep now and he certainly would not be able to do anymore magic today, and putting up the wards tomorrow would probably be all the magic he would be able to manage by then.

He forced open eyes he hadn't realised he had closed when he felt a hand touch his forehead and flinched away automatically. He might have relaxed around the Fellowship, however that didn't mean he liked anyone except Aragorn touching him when he wasn't expecting it. He saw Gandalf withdraw his hand quickly as the Istar turned to the Fellowship which had gathered around him, although the ranger was closest, crouching by his side with his fingers resting lightly on Elion's wrist, presumably checking his pulse.

"What is it Gandalf?" Aragorn demanded, worry in his voice and eyes, even as Elion felt him gently rub his thumb over the back of Elion's hand, helping to relax and calm him.

"He used his magic too much and over exerted himself," Gandalf told them, "It won't harm him, he is merely exhausted and hungry I suspect, though when he is more awake I will be having words with him about stopping _before _he pushes himself to the point of exhaustion."

Though Elion was tired he could not hide the guilty look that sprung onto his face nor suppress the slight wince at those words. He knew Gandalf could be very irritable and although he had worked out that he was, for the most part a kind and patient man, who was sincerely concerned for the hobbits and himself, he also had little patience for fools and he knew that the man counted his actions as foolish and he would receive a blistering reprimand the following day.

However he was distracted from his thoughts when he felt arms pick him up and he was settled on someone's hip. He blinked, before recognising the arms that held him securely. He smiled tiredly at the ranger before snuggling up against Aragorn's side, burying his face in the familiar fabric of the ranger's tunic. He heard a light chuckle from above him before his eyes closed and he slipped into sleep.

* * *

It must have been a couple of hours before Aragorn shook him awake. Elion rubbed his eyes, disorientated, as he realised he was tucked up in his bedroll and that it was dark. "Come on little one," Aragorn coaxed, "You need to eat." Reluctantly Elion wriggled out of the warmth the bedroll gave him, part of him noting he wasn't quite as exhausted as he was earlier, though he was still very tired.

He let out a surprised yelp as Aragorn lifted him up and settled him in his arms but Elion quickly recovered from his surprise, grabbing onto the ranger's tunic and relaxing in the secure hold. Soon he found himself settled near the fire as plates of food were passed around and he fell to his supper, surprising himself with quite how ravenous he actually was.

Elion finished his food in record time and putting his plate on a nearby rock he leant against the ranger's side, soaking in the warmth and comfort he got just from Aragorn's presence. He felt rather than saw the soft smile Aragorn directed down at him and he curled a little closer to the ranger. He wasn't quite sure why he trusted the ranger so much, or why it was always Aragorn he sought comfort from and who was able to reassure him after his nightmares but he did know that he trusted the ranger with his life and he knew that Aragorn would always try to protect him.

The crackle of the fire and the voices around the fire that often exploded into hearty laughter, usually courtesy of either the hobbits or Gimili helped Elion to stay awake. It was strange, he knew they were going on a dangerous quest but in this moment when he couldn't see the wariness and caution that lurked in their eyes he could have almost believed that there was no danger here and that they were merely a group of friends on a journey. It was peculiar and it chafed against what he had experienced in his own war but at the same time he knew enough to know the worth of such a moment and that they were worth hanging onto, for they would need the hope and heart these moments gave them before the end.

Aragorn's voice broke him out of his thoughts and he looked up to met blue eyes, "Why do you push yourself so hard little one?" The ranger asked, concern in his voice.

Elion hesitated for a moment, but soon he was speaking, he didn't know why but he did trust Aragorn and he was sick of keeping everything bottled up and hidden, "I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me," he murmured eventually, his voice soft because while he would answer Aragorn's questions it didn't mean he trusted other members of the Fellowship enough to open up to them.

"Last time everyone died, I wasn't good enough to protect them and they died when I should have been the only one to die." Now he had started to speak it was pouring out of him, still in whispers but Aragorn could hear every word clearly, "I was the only one he wanted. He killed my parents and my friends, they fought with me and for me and they all died. I wasn't good enough and they died and it was my fault. I'm not going to be not good enough again. I don't want anyone else to die because of me again." Emerald eyes, full of tears stared up at the ranger imploringly, "I have to work hard. I can't let anyone else die. I can't."

Tears quivered in his eyes and he was shaking with the emotion and the memories that had poured through him but he was still surprised when Aragorn pulled him into his arms, holding him to his chest protectively. Elion hid his face in Aragorn's tunic, letting the tears spill over, even as Aragorn held him close, murmuring comfort. But even in the midst of his tears Elion felt some of his barriers crumble. Aragorn was holding him tightly, comforting him the same way a parent would comfort their child. It was something he had never had back in England and something he had been longing for deep within him for his entire life.

Eventually though his tears slowed and finally ceased although Elion made no move to leave Aragorn's lap and the ranger made no attempt to push him away, rather a large and calloused hand rubbed his back tenderly and when the ranger spoke his voice was soft. "You were made to fight?" Elion could hear the concern as well as the revulsion and shock in that sentence.

"Yes," he whispered, not raising his head from the safety of Aragorn's chest but feeling he needed to explain more, "But they didn't force me to, I wanted to, I wanted to help protect my friends and it was my fight really, it was me he was after and it was the right thing to do. I didn't like it, and I hated the killing but I had to fight him because no-one else would..."

He trailed off as he felt Aragorn's arms tighten and he heard the choked question, "Oh little one, you were forced to _kill_?"

Elion just nodded, not really understanding the ranger's distress at his admission, why would anyone care what he had done, willingly or otherwise before they had met him, unless to decry him as a burden or murderer. People didn't care what he went through, they only saw him as a saviour, someone to be relied upon for answers and to save them and defeat Voldemort.

Therefore he was caught by surprise when he felt Aragorn draw him closer and lightly kiss his brow. "No child," he said quietly though his voice was thick, "Should ever know what it is to take a life. And I am so sorry that you have already felt that burden."

Elion didn't know what to say so he settled for burrowing deeper into the ranger's protective hold, trying not to let his emotions spill over. The sorrow and concern he had heard in Aragorn's voice brought a lump to his throat but it was the ranger's actions that had caused the tears to prick behind his eyelids once more. Not once in his childhood, in his life, had he ever been given such willing comfort and he could remember the jealousy that had stirred within him when he had seen other children be held and kissed by their parents. And it hadn't just been at Privet Drive, it was a jealousy that he had carried to Hogwarts, though he had buried it deeply in his heart, ashamed. It had been something he had never experienced and never believed he could ever have.

Elion let his thoughts drift as he curled up in Aragorn's lap, completely content in the strong arms that were holding him as he lost the fight against his tiredness and slipped into slumber.

As a consequence he didn't see the sad but tender smile that rose on Aragorn's lips as he watched the child slip into a sleep as yet untroubled by nightmares, or feel the gentleness with which he lifted the small boy and placed him back into his bedroll, tucking him in and brushing errant black hair out of his eyes before returning back to his place at the fire, although ensuring the child was still within his line of sight if anything went wrong.

* * *

Legolas could tell that something was bothering his friend. He had known Aragorn for nearly sixty years, ever since the ranger had been a young child in Rivendell and he had fought by his side several times and by now he could see that his friend had something on his mind, and it was not to do with the Ring. He had seen the interaction with Elion, and though he had not heard the entirety of the conversation he had still picked up enough to worry him, and Aragorn's reaction, and the way his eyes were still straying to the child indicated whatever had transpired was serious.

Frowning slightly he moved to join the ranger who was taking the first watch and leant against the rock that the ranger had his back to, part of his mind noting that he wasn't the only one who had noticed Aragorn's preoccupation and that Gimli was also making his way over to join them. Legolas scowled half heartedly at the dwarf, over the weeks the Fellowship had been travelling together he had, grudging, built up not a friendship exactly but rather a friendly rivalry of sorts with the dwarf and he could admit he had begun to tolerate the dwarf even though he did not like him. He was honest enough to add the 'yet' to that sentence, for he was reasonably sure he would come to like him eventually but at the moment more of his attention was focussed on his friend.

However it was Gimli who broke the silence, "What troubles you laddie?"

Aragorn shot a wry glance at the dwarf before his eyes once again strayed to where the child was sleeping. "I learnt more about the life he had led," he said eventually, "And if those who had care of him had not already perished they would feel my sword." There was a pause and then he added, "And I would not be merciful."

Legolas's brow furrowed with his frown. He knew his friend well enough to know that he was talking about their deaths and his concern spiked as he got the unshakeable feeling that when he discovered what Aragorn had learnt he would happily join him, for the ranger did not deal out death to those who were not a threat to Middle Earth or to the people he was protecting. Though, he conceded mentally, Elion certainly seemed to have fallen under the ranger's protection just as easily, if not more so than Frodo had done.

"What did they _do_?" The question had no small undertone of worry under it, for the child as much as the ranger.

There was a long pause and Aragorn's eyes lingered on the child before moving to the darkness surrounding them, "This is not the first time he has fought," he said eventually, ignoring the sudden intakes of breath from both dwarf and elf, "And neither will this war be the first time he has seen death, or indeed been forced to deal it out himself."

"What?!" The question came from both Legolas and Gimli simultaneously, both laced with concern and completely incredulous. For Elion had quickly found a place in the hearts of the entire Fellowship, even Boromir's, albeit reluctantly on the Gondorian's part, through his spirit and energy and sheer presence in amongst the hardened warriors raising their spirits. It did not sit well with either to hear just how involved the boy had already been in battle.

"But he is little more than a babe," Legolas protested, his heart sick with the thought of a young child having already been forced into battle. Children were so rare to the elves that they were treasured and Elion, though he was not an elf, had quickly claimed a place in his heart. He had not been happy to have the child near the war in the first place, the action going against his every instinct and he knew his friend was the same, although the ranger was far more protective of the child then he. Legolas had conceded the necessity of it when the situation had been fully explained. But now to learn he already knew it, and had been forced to kill...

Both Aragorn's voice and eyes were dark as he replied, "I know."

Somewhat surprisingly to both the man and elf it was Gimli who broke the tense silence that had enveloped the three of them. "The lad's strong," he said gruffly, "He wouldn't have the spirit he does if he wasn't. And whatever he lacked in guardians before he has got in you laddie." The dwarf let out a chuckle at the looks directed his way after that statement.

"We aren't blind Aragorn," he said bluntly, "Everyone here has seen how much you care for him and he returns it."

There is a surprised sort of silence for a moment then by general consensus the subject was quietly dropped and the mood darkened slightly as their minds turned towards the quest. It went unsaid that they were rapidly approaching the point in the journey where danger would appear more frequently, they were close now to Rohan and Saruman and the mountains rose tall, no longer in the distance by no more than another day's journey away.

Gimli scowled fiercely up at their peaks, "I still think that we are going the long way round. Why take that Pass, a journey sure to be cold and treacherous when we could go under the mountains, through the comfort of Moria?"

"I would not take that road save as my last hope." Aragorn replied, his voice grave, "Though parts have been reclaimed by the dwarfs, or were reclaimed," Here Gimli's face clouded at the reminder that they had heard nothing from Balin, nor the dwarfs who had gone with him for over two summers now, "There is still an evil that lurks in those caverns and not with a thousand armies could you clear them. I would fear to take the ring there into the darkness for it is hard enough for one to pass unscathed, let alone one who bears such as burden as Frodo does. No Gimli, I would not choose to take the road through Moria and neither would Gandalf."

But even as he spoke the mountain loomed above them, its silent shape mocking in the moonlight. And behind them, in the darkness of the trees, its slight form hidden in the shadows a pair of large pale eyes stared out at the camp they couldn't see but they knew was there, colourless lips framing a single word. "_Precious."_

* * *

**AN: And here is the update - I know some of you expected it last week, but school has started again and it's my last year so it is hectic and exhausting so chapters will be fortnightly for the foreseeable future. A slow chapter I know, but it was needed and there will be more action soon. Hope you enjoyed it anyway and thank you for all the support and please review!**

**I would like to make something clear though. If you hate the genre, don't read the story instead of ranting about the genre anonymously. I'm not exactly hiding it after all.**


	12. Chapter 11

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 11**

Cold. Freezing, mind numbing cold.

Elion thought he knew what cold felt like; after all he had spent seven years in a draughty old castle up in the Scottish Highlands in the dead of winter, winters where snow drifted into heaps that reached the windows but that was before he met the Pass of Caradhras.

It had been unfortunate enough that they had been forced to start their quest at the start of winter but at least down on the plains and in the forests, while there was frost on the ground every morning it never got as cold as it was high up on the pass. They had been wading through snow for hours and despite the warming charms Elion had placed on himself and all the hobbits, and the layers of clothing they were swaddled in under their cloaks, his teeth were chatting and he had no feeling left in his fingers or toes.

It was the second day they had spent trying to navigate the mountain pass. They had passed one cold, miserable night under a rocky outcrop with the underside mercifully free from snow and it had only been because of Elion's magic they had even managed to get a fire going in the wet wood, a fire who's heat had seemed ineffectual against the biting cold and had used up the fuel they could spare for that night far too fast. Elion had been glad to wake and begin the trudge through the snow once more, because even if he was tired the motion at least had warmed him somewhat.

But then the storm had swept in, bringing nothing but swirling snow, a wind that clawed at any exposed flesh, freezing any available moisture to it and fell voices echoing on the air. Cloaks were little comfort as they forced their way onwards, Gandalf clearing a path with his staff. Elion was almost glued to Aragorn's side, along with Frodo, the ranger protecting them from the worst of the storm but the warmth that his presence gave them faded to nothing against the pervasive cold.

And then Elion felt it, the pure magic that permeated this storm, sweeping it into a greater frenzy. Ahead of them Elion could hear Gandalf's voice shouting words which he could recognise as an incantation. But the storm's fury did not abate and with a sudden moment of clarity Elion realised that this opponent was stronger than Gandalf and he did not have the power to fight it alone. And with that thought he knew what he had to do.

This was their road and they could not be forced back or they would be unable to complete the quest and that could not be allowed to happen. Gandalf needed help and while Elion did not know enough to join him in the magic the Istar was weaving he could give him strength. Ducking out from under Aragorn's arm he staggered his way through the snow to Gandalf's side, ignoring the startled and almost fearful cries from the Fellowship.

Gritting his teeth he pulled his magic up until it was flowing to his palm and in a single movement he placed his hand on the Istar's staff, letting his own magic flow through into it, and into the spell.

For one awful moment the storm increased in potency but then the fell voices faded slightly and the wind slackened a little. It was not much but it was there and Elion saw the fight surge back into the Istar, he raised his staff, his voice booming powerfully out into the storm and as Elion fed his own strength into the working, the blizzard's grip on the mountainside faltered and slowly faded until there was nothing but a light snowfall dusting their faces and a light wind, which though it still had a bite, no longer scrubbed their faces raw.

Elion saw Gandalf grasp his staff heavily, letting it support his weight as his breath came in gasps but Elion did not have time to look and wonder as he suddenly felt the trembling in his own limbs and realised he was panting as if he had been running for miles. He realised then, just how much of his magic and strength he had given to Gandalf to help fight the storm and precisely why Gandalf had called such magic 'great works'. He was bone tired, freezing and short of breath.

When he felt an arm settle across his shoulders, pulling him back against a warm side he gladly surrendered his grip on the staff and let the arm support him as he was tucked against a familiar side, half covered by a worn cloak. Elion smiled tiredly up at Aragorn and the ranger smiled back at him before turning urgently to Gandalf.

The Istar however saw the question coming, "Wielding that much magic has tired me, but Saruman has been driven back and will not have the strength to mount a second attack soon. We must now concentrate on traversing as much of the pass as we can. Our presence has been spotted, and if we do not move quickly it will be all too easy for Saruman to find us once he had regained his strength."

Aragorn's face tightened but he nodded sharply in acknowledgement of the silent request. The ranger moved to the head of the party, though he kept both Frodo and Elion under the shielding warmth of his cloak, something they were both thankful for because although the storm had all but vanished, the cold had already seeped deep into their bones.

Without the pounding snow and strong winds the Fellowship made much better progress and they all found their steps easier as they no longer battled against the force of the howling wind. Aragorn led them through the snow covered paths with the simple ease that spoke of years of wandering these wilds and by the time the sky darkened once more, though this time with sunset, they had crossed the peak of the pass and were approaching the tree line on the far side of the mountain. It would still be another day's travel at least until they were back in the foothills but the whole company felt a sense of relief when they came under snow laden boughs once more. They had conquered the pass.

It was with lighter hearts that they set up camp that night, though their limbs were leaden. And with the wards up, keeping the camp safe from prying eyes, the crackle of a fire and the heat that poured off it now it was fed with fresh wood was enough to warm them and revive their spirits. But despite the relief Elion felt at being past the height of the pass, putting up the wards had taken the last of his magical strength and he had curled up in his bedroll the instant he had finished his supper, his eyes closing quickly.

And he hadn't been the only one, the whole company was tired from their battle with the elements and the period they had remained around the campfire, talking and jesting had been brief as they all had quickly sought their beds though not before a watch was mounted. Even though they had conquered the pass it went unspoken that they had moved into a more dangerous realm. Saruman had attacked them up on the mountain and they did not fool themselves to think that they had escaped his sight.

He knew they were on the pass and while he did not currently have the magical strength to attack them himself from Orthanc they knew that even now there would be spies, Crebain, sent out to find them and there would be Uruk-hai being readied. They would have to travel fast and avoid the main ways if they were to pass into Mordor and continue on their quest without alerting the Enemy to their purpose.

But even as Aragorn took the first watch, blue eyes scanning the darkened surroundings, they did not realise that the danger did not lie with Saruman and his forces but rather was far closer to the camp and had already been following them for several days.

* * *

Large pale eyes stared unblinking at the clearing in front of him. He couldn't see the creatures, the thieves that he had been tracking for days now but he could feel it, feel the precious calling out to him from the clearing in front of him. It was there, so close and there was almost a physical agony rising in him. He needed it, he needed his precious, it was his, only his and they had stolen it.

His fingers twisted, softly stroking the phantom imprint of the ring where he had cradled it in his palm for night after night, even as his eyes looked hungrily into the place where he knew it lay even though he couldn't get close, couldn't see it or touch it. He wanted it, he desperately wanted it, to go there and feel the life leave the hobbit who carried it and then he could take it, take his only, his precious.

But the elf was there, the nasty elf with the bright blades that sung and that bit. And the man, the tall dark man that had chased him through the forest, through the wilds until he couldn't run and then had caught him, his sword sun-bright and deep bite. And dragged him with the tall grey one back to the nasty elves with the voices that stabbed and the ropes and hands that burnt. It was too risky, too risky.

Precious, my own, my only, my precious. It was his. They were thieves, filthy little thieves.

But he couldn't kill them all. Not with the elf-steel that bit and burned.

It was his, his, his, his, his alone.

He could let them do it. He knew these mountains, knew the caverns, the caves, the passageways into the depths and the deeps he would never tread. He knew of the goblins and of the fouler things that lurked in the shadows, in the depths. What need would goblins have for his precious when they could have man flesh?

Yes, yes, yes. Exultation mixed with longing and a sharp, savage glee pulsed through him. He knew these tunnels, he knew the cave that opened onto the surface nearby, close enough that the goblins would easily be able to catch the scent of the men and they did not take intruders into their territory lightly. Without realising it, bony fingers reached down, catching at the jagged scar that ran along his arm, the clear reminder of the strength of the nasty goblins. They would kill them and then the precious would be his once more.

Silently and as swiftly as a shadow the creature known as Gollum slipped down from his perch high in the treetops before slinking across frozen ground to where he knew the caves and the goblins were. He would have to be tricksy if he wanted to lead the goblins here but he could be tricksy, he would be tricksy for the precious. Always for the precious.

* * *

The company had barely started moving once more when Legolas held up his hand for silence. Instantly the Fellowship froze, eyes swinging to the taut form of the elf, his hand already on his bow, even as Aragorn's fell to his sword hilt. Gandalf opened his mouth to inquire to the sudden wariness when suddenly they all heard the sound that had alerted the elf. Behind them came the snapping of twigs and on the wind those with sharper ears could pick up the sound of foul voices.

"Goblins," The word was hissed with unconcealed disgust.

Quick glances were exchanged between the warriors in the group and Elion could see by the setting of their shoulders that a decision had been reached. They were staying and fighting but they would not fight this battle at a disadvantage. Before Elion had a chance to ask what was about to happen he found himself pulled up into Legolas's arms and between one breath and the next the elf was high up a tree, placing him carefully onto a branch and settling onto a nearby branch, an arrow already balanced in his fingertips.

Foliage hid them, and the clothing the elf wore blended easily into the background. Below them Elion could see that the remainder of the company had already vanished into the woodland surrounding them and the plan instantly became apparent. Now they knew the goblins were attempting to attack them they were springing the trap, creating an ambush of their own. And with that thought Elion realised why Legolas had taken him up into the treetops. He was well aware he was unable to fight properly on the ground; he had no weapon he could wield at close quarters and would be a liability in a proper fight. However up in the treetops, hidden from the enemy's view he would be able to attack them with magic and instead of being a liability and a burden he could actually be useful in this fight.

Adrenalin rose up in him, his muscles tensing with remembered exertion, pain, fear and determination. He might not have that much magic to draw upon, the way he had aided Gandalf the previous day having taken more energy that he had been able to recover overnight but he knew what he had could be very useful, particularly if he thought carefully about the attacks he make.

However he couldn't help the shock and fear that rose in him when the first goblin entered the clearing. His hands flew to his mouth to muffle his cry of surprise, shock and fear and he only just managed to keep the sound from escaping. The goblins looked exactly what he had thought monsters would look like as a child, misshapen, ugly beings with cruel expressions on their faces, speaking of the pleasure they took in inflicting pain and the jagged, wicked weapons they clutched in their hands.

He had seen worse monsters since his childhood, human monsters that took joy in the death and destruction they wrought, that laughed as they watched others die before them, that had chosen to do their evil and he knew these goblins were not as monstrous as them but they still bayed for blood, their blood and Elion could not stop the fear that rose in his throat, almost choking. But he pushed it down, he had fought and beaten worse things than goblins, and he would not let them have the people he cared about or let them hurt them, not when he still drew breath and had magic in him.

He moved his eyes back to the goblins, focus coming to them now and he caught the glance that Legolas directed at him, one that was assessing, sorrowful and impressed. A slightly wavy smile rose on his lips in response then he focussed on the clearing below him, his mind jumping back to previous ambushes as he waited, nerves and fear coiling within him for the sign to start firing.

The goblins had gathered in the clearing, their brutish faces scanning the surroundings whilst one in front sniffed at the air. "Man-flesh," he growled, his voice the rasp of nails against stone, "They're close."

Elion watched as their grips on their weapons tightened and a smaller, squat creature spoke, its voice was high and sent a shiver down his spine, "What are we waiting for? I'm hungry and we haven't had fresh meat for ages."

"Shut up!" The leader snarled, "They'll be waiting for us if they hear you."

Sullenly the goblin complied, and though his face twisted into an angry half-snarl Elion could clearly see the fear in the motion. He forced himself to stay still, the proximity of the creatures, the adrenaline surging in his veins and the nerves coiling in his gut making him want to move and start to fight but he knew he had to wait for the signal. It would not help if he alerted the goblins to their presence or spoilt the ambush because that would only endanger the others and since Frodo had been injured at Weathertop he had promised himself that he would not let anyone he cared for in this world get hurt when he could prevent it again.

The sudden twang of a bow and the feathers that suddenly protruded from the lead goblin's forehead took him by surprise even though he had been tensed, waiting for the signal. There was utter silence for a moment as the pack of goblins realised their leader had been cut down by an enemy they couldn't see or had realised was there before a wave of growls, snarls and terrible cries ripped their way from nearly forty throats and the air echoed with the hiss of weapons being drawn and brought up.

The pause did not last for even a heartbeat before Legolas was shooting once more and another goblin went down. Elion snapped himself out of his shock, ignoring the fear pulsing in time with his heartbeat, he was beyond their reach up here and he drew on his magic. Ignoring his staff he snapped his palm out, "_Bombarda!" _He tried to keep his voice low as not to alert the goblins to his position but even as the blast slammed into the centre of the pack of goblins, sending nearly eight of them to their deaths, a few of those nearest to him looked up, their eyes squinting further as they searched for the source of the sound.

Fear choked his throat as black eyes found his and a guttural throat started to form words but in the next instant a battle cry cut off the words as the stocky figure of Gimli plunged into the melee, his axe whirling in a deadly dance even as Aragorn, Boromir and Gandalf joined him, blades humming in fatal unison through the still morning air.

Death came to the goblins and all the while Elion could do nothing but watch, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The company were fighting in the thick of the fight, though at some point Legolas had dropped to the ground to protect the hobbits and was away from the centre of the battle. Elion couldn't use his spells for fear of hitting one of the Fellowship and his wide area spells were useless when they would kill those he cared for just as surely as the goblins.

But slowly and surely they were winning. The numbers of goblins were lessening, now Aragorn and Boromir had slipped behind the pack, cutting off their escape back to their tunnels but though the numbers were decreasing it did not mean that the danger had passed.

Elion saw what was about to happen the instant before it did. Boromir had turned to block the blow of one goblin and while his attention was held by that creature a second had come behind him, his sword already raised and poised to deliver a fatal blow. With a hoarse cry Elion yelled "_Diffindo!" _He might not like the Gondorian but he would not let him die, not when he was part of the Fellowship.

Having heard the noise the man spun round, the first goblin dead, his sword already raised, only to see the goblin fall, headless, in front of his feet and saw the frightened emerald eyes of the young boy staring at him in horror. The man's eyes widened as he took in the position of the goblin and of the sword it held and Elion saw the moment when the warrior realised that he had been no more than inches from death. For a spilt second the man raised his eyes to meet Elion's and he dipped his head slightly in recognition of the boy's actions before spinning back into the fight.

Very soon it was all over. The goblin party had been completely destroyed and the Fellowship had escaped with no more than a collection of minor injuries, a variety of cuts, scrapes and bruises. Elion watched as the hobbits emerged, shaking from the bushes where they had remained hidden for the entire skirmish, their faces white as they took in the corpses that littered the ground, although there was relief in their eyes when they saw that no-one had suffered any serious hurt.

Merry and Pippin in particular were white faced and their eyes were wide and shocked. But Elion suddenly realised, even as Legolas carefully carried him down the tree and back to the ground, that this was the first time they had been faced with such mindless violence, and probably the first time they had watched someone be killed. Sympathy welled up in him as he remembered the first time he had watched someone die, and the first time he had knowingly spilt blood and the shock, horror, fear, guilt and revulsion that had risen in him.

Finding his feet securely back on the ground he hurried over to them, pausing only to smile – albeit a little shakily – at Aragorn and then at the others who looked at him in concern in a silent reassurance that he was alright. Reaching the two hobbits he reached out and impulsively hugged Merry and then Pippin. "It's alright," he promised quietly, his voice faltering slightly with the Common he wasn't yet fully familiar with. "It will get better. Not easier, killing is never easy but it was us or them and you don't need to be frightened or guilty."

Their faces were still pale but both Merry and Pippin managed to summon up a small smile and Elion's smile stretched larger in response. As the Fellowship continued their journey once more Elion made a point of walking with Pippin and Merry and gradually he watched as they slowly recovered from the emotions seeing the battle had raised within them.

It was nearly five hours later, and just past midday when they subject of the battle was raised once again, "Are you alright Elion?" the question came from a concerned Merry and Elion smiled genuinely back at him, "I'm fine," he answered, a faint hint of confusion colouring his tone, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"But you killed?" Pippin said then, his voice incredulous and Elion's smile faltered for a moment.

"It wasn't the first time," he said eventually, "I've killed in self defence and I've killed to protect. It isn't easy and I don't like it but I can understand why it has to happen." Determination entered his voice then, "If the choice is between keeping my friends and family safe, or killing the monsters hurting them, then I kill the monsters."

There was silence for a long moment as both Merry and Pippin processed his words before slowly nodding, "I can understand that," Merry said slowly, Pippin nodding alongside his friend, the levity that was normally present in his eyes absent, "I don't want to fight or kill but I would not stand by while my friends were in danger and I could do something about it."

"It isn't a game or an adventure," Pippin said softly, seriousness in his voice, "I didn't understand that before but I think I'm beginning to now. This journey will not be easy, there will be danger and I will have to fight before the end and I can only hope I will be able to do enough."

"You will," Elion's voice had a conviction in it that took the two younger hobbits by surprise, "At least that is what you must believe for if you don't the Enemy has already won." They regarded him for a few moments before Pippin grinned and adeptly switched the subject and soon Elion found himself laughing helplessly as the two of them regaled him with tales of their misadventures growing up in the shire.

But while they were laughing behind them two men were regarding the child, their expressions markedly different as they considered the conversation that they had just heard. Aragorn's eyes shone with a peculiar mix of understanding, sorrow and pride as he considered Elion's words but it was Boromir's countenance that betrayed more volatile emotions. Surprise, confusion, sadness and a grudging respect all vied for space in his eyes and his lips were tight and the look in his eyes distant as he walked, not seeing the stones beneath his feet. The small child whom he had been so dismissive of had turned round and not only saved him from what he knew would have been a fatal blow but was now talking with a weight and gravity which did not marry with his appearance. The Gondorian was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he needed to talk to the child, and this time with no trace of mockery.

He got his opportunity later that evening. They had travelled for longer than normal that day, wanting to put as much distance between them and the site of the ambush as possible for they did not know why the goblins had pursued them and they could not be certain that one hadn't escaped and gone back to the mountains to lead another group to them.

Elion had quickly raised the protections that they were all coming to trust but they had still kept their fire small and hidden in a small hollow and though for the most part the company had relaxed they kept their weapons within easy reach and there was a watchfulness in their bearings that spoke of their awareness of the threat.

It was shortly before supper when Boromir finally managed to corner Elion. The child had been remarkably adept at avoiding him, something the Gondorian suspected he was doing on purpose, he was either helping the hobbits cook or collect firewood, or simply curled up against Aragorn's side as the ranger cleaned his weapons, and he had studiously avoided meeting his eyes. But when Aragorn had risen with a gentle smile down at the child to go and talk with Gandalf, Boromir seized his chance.

He hurried over before Elion had the chance to occupy himself once again and crouched down to the child's level. Elion watched him, distrust in his eyes that Boromir was forced to admit he had probably earned with the way he had treated the child ever since he had met him. "Thank you Elion," he said quietly and the child's eyes widened before narrowing once again.

"What for?" Elion's voice was suspicious and Boromir could clearly see that the boy believed he was mocking him.

"For your actions in the battle today, I know that stroke would have killed me if not for your intervention."

Elion regarded him for a moment, the emerald eyes too serious for a child his age, "You do not need to thank me," he said finally, "You are part of this Fellowship and I would not see you dead."

"And I have given you no reason for that," Boromir countered, "I have not treated you as a comrade should and for that I am sorry. You are deserving of your place in the company and I was blind that I did not acknowledge it before."

Elion watched him for a moment, his eyes boring into the Gondorian, assessing his sincerity and he had to prevent himself from moving away from the piercing gaze. He let out a silent sigh of relief when Elion finally nodded and offered him a somewhat timid smile, the shadows in his eyes melting away a little as the child peeked through.

Boromir felt a smile rise on his own face and he reached out to ruffle the child's messy hair only to be fixed with a glare as the boy darted away, quickly heading back to the safety of the campfire and slipping in between Aragorn and Legolas. Boromir watched as the two favoured him with fond smiles, the ranger reaching out to wrap a protective arm around the child's shoulders and Elion curled up against his side.

A wistful smile touched his face as he watched the interaction and he was suddenly reminded of his childhood, when Faramir would curl up against his side and beg for stories which Boromir would gladly relate. It had been before their father had started to favour him, before either of them had tasted the bitterness of war and part of Boromir longed for those days, and for his brother to be here, fighting at his side where he belonged. But such dreams would not come to pass and Boromir knew it was his duty that was more important, his duty to his father, to his people and his brother.

His gaze strayed from the child then, to the form of Frodo and the treasure he carried. He was against the decision for it to be destroyed for such a weapon could be what was needed to turn the tide of war in Gondor's favour. He was not naive, he knew the situation in his home was perilous and the victory they had won at Osgiliath would all too soon be swept aside and it would be his brother that was blamed.

The ring could turn the tide of war from their defeat, such a powerful weapon would be all that was needed to secure victory, and though he knew it was dangerous, the Council and Elion's testimony enough to convince him of that fact, it did not change his conviction that it could be wielded for wasn't Frodo carrying it with no ill effects? He would be loathe to see it destroyed but he had sworn an oath and to his oath he would remain true.

* * *

AN: And there is the update - major plot change number 1! Hope you enjoyed it, thank you for all the support and please review! I'll see you in two weeks.


	13. Chapter 12

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 12**

The Fellowship remained watchful as they continued to travel south, well aware that they had passed into territory that was watched by both Saruman and goblins and that they would not be able to relax their guard until they reached Lothlorien. Much to their relief there had not been a second pursuit and they could only speculate as to what had caused the goblins to leave the shelter of their caves and tunnels to pursue a party of armed warriors.

It had been nearly a week since the attack and during that period Elion had found himself relaxing further in their company, even Boromir had become likeable since the fight and apology. While neither made an effort to seek out the other, Boromir did not attempt to mock or belittle him and treated him with a sort of friendly tolerance. It wasn't respect exactly, and Elion didn't think it ever would be, but rather it was an acknowledgement that Elion did possess his own strengths and that his input could be valuable but still it was a vast improvement to the way things had been previously.

However that didn't mean that Elion was not still watching him. Out of everyone in the Fellowship he could see Boromir was the one that was the most drawn to the ring, and to its power. It was not overt, glances he stole at the ring, the contemplative expression that occasionally fell across his face, clouding it, but it was there and Elion recognised it and he would not allow Boromir to get too close to Frodo.

After Aragorn, Frodo was the person in Middle Earth that Elion trusted the most and he had quickly formed a firm friendship with the hobbit. And he was fiercely protective of his friends and family, that had been an integral part of his personality as a wizard and had not changed when he had come to Middle Earth. He would do anything to keep his friends safe, and he would protect Frodo with everything he had and more because he understood. He had borne a similar burden and knew its weight far too well, he knew he could not take that burden away but he could lighten it, show Frodo that not everything was dark and that there was still light and hope in the world and he would do it gladly.

However as the days passed with no sign of a pursuit and they grew closer to the borders of Lothlorien their hearts started to lighten. Whatever had caused the goblins to leave their tunnels to pursue them had not drawn others to them and as they had moved away from the hearts of the mountains the chances of similar ambushes decreased. Evidently the destruction of the band of goblins that had attacked them had been enough to ensure their safe passage through the foothills that were littered with tunnels to the mountains and now they were beyond that, but the threat of Saruman still remained and they could not remove it by simply travelling out of the mountains.

A sudden cry caused the Fellowship to freeze, hands falling to weapons as eyes snapped to Gandalf. Elion felt his body freeze as Gandalf called out again, this time injecting more strength into his voice as Elion felt the touch of magic against him, pushing, oppressing and seeking to destroy. He knew without being told that Saruman was attacking them once more.

He slipped out from behind Aragorn, the ranger having positioned himself protectively in front of Frodo and Elion at the first cry. He saw Aragorn's hand clench on his sword hilt as he ran forward but neither Aragorn or any of the Fellowship attempted to stop him. They could see as well as him that the enemy was magical and they knew that they could not combat magic with swords, no matter how much they wanted to, and they all knew that in this area Elion knew far more than them, despite being younger.

He reached Gandalf, his hand already reaching out for the Istar's staff. Gandalf's face was creased and his eyes were drawn, showing the child clearly that he was struggling to hold off the assault, even as words tumbled from his lips and power swelled around him. Like he had done on Caradhras Elion reached forward, taking hold of Gandalf's staff with one hand and lending his magic to the older wizard.

It was a harder battle. Saruman had been taken by surprise on the mountain top, and this time he was not treating them lightly, instead he was pouring all his power into this single assault. Elion kept pushing his magic into the staff, letting it mingle with Gandalf's own but despite everything he was giving he could feel Gandalf's defence falter.

He gritted his teeth and summoned up more magic, giving every scrap he could find to the Istar. He couldn't let Gandalf falter, he couldn't let Saruman win, he had to protect Frodo and he would protect him no matter how much magic it took. He shoved his magic into Gandalf, letting it flow through the wizard and into the spells, strengthening them when the Istar's own strength flagged.

And slowly, excruciatingly slowly Saruman was pushed back. The howling torrent of offensive, malicious magic gradually retreated, increment by increment, fighting all the way until with a sudden blow it vanished and Elion found himself falling forward, unable to support his own weight. He blinked groggily as the ground moved up to meet him, wondering at the sluggishness in his limbs but his mind couldn't function properly.

Just before he hit the grass he felt something catch him and he was lifted up into the air and cradled against a warm chest. Around him there was a flurry of voices, talking far too fast for him to follow, "Gandalf...alright...wrong?...Saruman...attack...t ired...gave...too much..."

Elion blinked lethargically and snuggled closer, fists unconsciously clenching in the rough wool of a familiar cloak, a yawn escaping. "Sleep little one," a voice murmured and Elion raised sleepy eyes to see Aragorn's face smiling down at him, concern etched in his eyes and decided that sleep sounded like a very good idea. Not managing to hide a second yawn he rested his head on the ranger's shoulder and in the next moment was fast asleep.

* * *

He awoke slowly, wiping at his eyes with his hands to try and remove the sleep from them. His limbs still felt a little leaden, and he could feel that his magic was tired, though it had recovered somewhat but his mind was clear. A frown drifted across his features as he tried to work out what had happened, he could remember helping Gandalf, pushing Saruman back but after that there was nothing.

Pushing himself up a little he gazed around his surroundings, hoping perhaps that they would give him a measure of clarity, even as the first faint stirrings of alarm began to writhe in his gut. The frown became more pronounced as he realised he was no longer on the plains, but was rather lying on a wooden platform high up a tree, though the silver bark sparked a memory inside him. The answer came in the next minute. Lothlorien.

That realisation allowed him to put the pieces together and the alarm retreated, it was obviously night, though the pale glow slipping through the trees indicated that dawn was close, he must have collapsed or fallen asleep due to the effort he had used fighting Saruman and during the time he had been asleep the Fellowship had reached Lothlorien and had obviously been offered shelter for the night.

His eyes flitted across the platform and the last stirrings of unease vanished as he saw Aragorn lying no more than a few feet away, with Legolas reclined against the tree trunk, his eyes darting across the forest, silent and watchful and the distinctive sound of Gimli's snoring reaching him from the other side of the platform. A glance across to the adjacent tree and its corresponding platform revealed the hobbits lying a little haphazardly in a tangled mess of blankets and bedroll's with Boromir standing guard, his sword held loosely in his hands, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

Elion felt a flash of unease at seeing the man standing so close to Frodo, in a position where he could easily take the ring but a quick glance up at Legolas reassured him that the man would not be able to do anything without the elf seeing and acting. Relaxing once more he continued to assess the Fellowship, looking for any damage that had been inflicted by the attack. His heartbeat thudded in his chest when he realised that the Istar was missing. Surely Saruman had not managed to overpower him? But they had driven him back, he couldn't have hurt him again could he? They had both been exhausted but Saruman had been exhausted too hadn't he?

Before the doubts could take full possession of his consciousness Legolas realised he was awake. With noiseless footsteps he crossed the platform with no hint of vertigo, abruptly reminding Elion that Legolas was a woodland elf and crouched down beside him. "We're in Lothlorien," he told him, his voice not rising above a whisper, "Sleep child, Gandalf said you used almost all your energy assisting him."

Elion was forced to admit that although he had not been awake for long the weight in his limbs was dragging him to slumber once more but the mention of Gandalf pulled his mind back to his query. "Where's Gandalf?" He asked softly, the worry and fear in his voice obvious to the elf.

"He's talking with some of the elves at the talan over there. There is no need to worry Young One,"

Elion absorbed the information, the knowledge that the company was still whole reassuring him as he curled deeper into his blankets, a quiet yawn escaping. He heard Legolas chuckle as the elf resumed his former position but sleep was quick to claim him as he snuggled into his bedroll that he was only now noticing was covered with the ranger's cloak. A slight smile touched his face as he surrendered to the world of dreams.

The morning that followed however was not the most peaceful. Elion didn't quite understand why Gimli being in Lothlorien was an issue, or why the elves here felt so strongly about his presence, he might not have known Gimli as well as he knew the hobbits but the dwarf had shown himself to be kind-hearted despite the gruff and confrontational exterior he possessed.

Eventually a compromise was reached, but despite Legolas's, Gandalf's and Aragorn's best efforts they had not been able to persuade the elves to consent to lead Gimli through Lothlorien without a blindfold and that was the main reason why Elion was now trying to restrain himself from fiddling with the cloth that bound his eyes. Gimli had not been pleased with the suggestion so to avoid a confrontation springing up again they were all wearing blindfolds.

Elion held tightly to Aragorn's hand, his unease at being robbed of his sight obvious in the way he clung to the ranger. It wasn't that he did not trust the elves, on the contrary he knew that they would not lead them false and he could tell from the comforting way Aragorn held his hand that the ranger was not worried but that didn't stop his unease.

Without his sight he felt vulnerable, he would be unable to see an attack coming and it brought back memories of the war, and from before. The desperate fight against the Basilisk and the terror that had gripped him then, the raid he had conducted against Riddle Manor, their only light the flash of spell fire and everywhere hearing the cries as both friends and enemies perished in the blackness. And the sound of bodies hitting the floor, and of strangled shrieks that cut of abruptly the only way to tell when someone met their end.

He hadn't realised he was trembling until he felt Aragorn squeeze his hand comfortingly and rub a gentle thumb across the back of his knuckles. The simple motion brought him out the depths his memories had dragged him down to and he exhaled shakily. He wasn't back in Riddle Manor, he wasn't fighting desperately for his life, alone in the crushing dark, he was in Middle Earth and for the moment he was completely safe.

"Thank you," he breathed but the murmur was no less heartfelt for its quietness and he felt Aragorn squeeze his hand lightly in response. He didn't stop the smile that stretched across his face and even though the ranger couldn't see it, somehow Elion knew he had returned the smile.

It was easier to walk with the blindfold now. He still clung to the ranger's hand but he was no longer lost in memories, instead he could concentrate on his other senses, of the breath of wind against his face and in his hair, the rustle of leaves, the sound of birdsong drifting between the trees and the solid, comforting presence of Aragorn beside him. The last remnants of his unease drifted away and he suddenly found the experience strangely enjoyable, almost peaceful. It was very quiet in the depths of Lothlorien, no sounds except their own footsteps, breathing and the nature around them and now he had let go of the thrall his memories had over him Elion found it extremely peaceful and he was almost disappointed when the elves received the message that their blindfolds were to be removed.

That disappointment did not last long. The moment his eyes adjusted to the light he felt his mouth drop open as he stared at the wood around him in stunned amazement. He stared for several long moments before he heard a light chuckle above him. Elion glanced up shyly to meet a pair of smiling blue eyes, "It is beautiful isn't it little one," Aragorn said softly.

Elion just nodded, eyes still captivated by the slender silver trunks, the golden leaves and the fragile golden flowers that lay scattered amongst the grass. There was a pause, and Elion was dimly aware of the awed reactions of the members of the company who had never before seen Lorien but the ranger's next question startled him, "Would you like to see it better?"

Elion nodded quickly, "Yes please," he said eagerly, he didn't know what Aragorn had planned but he trusted the ranger implicitly and he certainly wanted to see more of this forest. It was the most beautiful place he had ever been in.

A yelp escaped as he suddenly found himself swung up into the air but that yelp quickly turned into giggles as he found himself perched on Aragorn's shoulders, easily allowing him a good view of the surrounding forest. The peals of delighted laughter rang out into the surrounding trees as the Company started to walk again, Elion securely held on his perch.

He was so preoccupied with gazing at the surroundings that he failed to notice the smiles that had risen on the tense faces of the elves accompanying them, or on the countenances of the battle weary members of the Fellowship. The musical sound of a child's laughter ringing out among the trees and the clear happiness in his eyes was a balm, however temporary to the wounds in several hearts, a bright spark of light against a gathering darkness.

* * *

Lady Galadriel's eyes were bright, bright and piercing but at the same time deep shadows and sorrow were contained in the weight of their gaze. They were the eyes of someone who had seen much, some would say too much and the eyes of someone who bore a heavy burden. Elion couldn't prevent the slight shiver that swept down his spine when he met her gaze, there was no denying that she was beautiful but her eyes held both a comfort and a burden, knowledge against hope and for the first time Elion really understood what it would be to live immortally, and what a curse that fate would bring.

It almost made him drop his eyes, but her gaze held his, even as he felt a faint pressure on the inside of his mind. He reacted without thinking, slamming up Occlumency shields which had been loosened slightly in the time he had spent in Middle Earth and he saw her eyes widen imperceptibly as she realised she had been rebuffed. Elion held her gaze for another second and saw the curiosity lurking in their depths before her eyes moved on and tension he had not been aware he was holding flowed out of him.

Suddenly he became aware that even as she had been examining each member of the Fellowship, Galadriel had been speaking. He tried to force himself to pay attention but it was already past twilight and he was tired, not to mention his mind was pouring over the encounter, brief as it had been. He was snapped out of his thoughts though when an elf came to lead them back to their quarters for the next few days, right at the base of the enormous mallorn.

It had taken them nearly half an hour to ascend it and his weary legs protested at the idea of climbing down over a thousand stairs no more than twenty minutes since they had finished ascending them. A yawn rose from his throat and his eyelids were heavy. He caught the amused and fond glances directed his way when those nearest to him noticed and while he knew he should feel embarrassed he could not muster the energy to do so. It was for that reason he didn't protest when he suddenly found air beneath his feet as he was gently picked up and wrapped in protective arms. He fell asleep on Aragorn's shoulder.

* * *

Galadriel walked slowly down to her mirror, Gandalf at her side. Narya and Nerya glinted on their wielder's fingers, visible to those who could see such things under the deep shadows and glimmering starlight. The main part of the Company was resting now, weary bodies accepting the respite from constant danger and watchfulness gratefully, the unspoken knowledge this would be the last place they would be able to rest easy hanging between them.

But despite the serenity that flowed here in the depths of the Wood, Gandalf's face was troubled, Galadriel's no less so. They could both feel it, feel the waning of the Rings they bore as the strength of the One grew and they could feel the darkness that swelled beyond the borders, lapping even at this haven and the vision of a burning eye hung heavily between them.

But the Eye was not the only danger, indeed, while it was the catalyst for many of the dangers they faced there were others, far nearer and extremely potent and it was for this reason Galadriel had drawn Gandalf aside, one name shivered in the air.

"Saruman."

"He is growing stronger, you know this Gandalf, and his arm grows long. He has not the power to see inside this Wood but even now he stretches out, weaving a noose that is tight and strong. All too soon it will be drawn fast and Rohan will not escape the net. Smoke rises over Isenguard, war will come fast, too fast."

"And what would you counsel?" Gandalf demanded tersely, "You know as well as I do it does not matter which kingdoms fall or resist if the Ring is not destroyed. Without the Quest there is no hope."

"The Fellowship is breaking. Not all can resist the Ring as Frodo can. I cannot tell when for the events to come are shaped by more than one hand but the Fellowship will fail. The burden will fall on Frodo alone for it is his destiny, and if he cannot find a way, none will. Your path is murky Gandalf but you will go into the Kingdoms of Men, for it on those front lines the diversion will spring. But a war cannot be fought on two fronts. If Saruman falls completely to Sauron's hand the war will be lost, and the Ringbearer will not reach the mountain. This I have seen."

She turned to face him then, ice blue eyes piercing into his own but Gandalf met her gaze, his own troubled and heavy with the burden of the knowledge he possessed.

"Saruman must fall, and by my hand." His voice was flat but sadness clung to the depths of his eyes.

"It is always hard to slay one that was once dear." The Elven Lady's voice did not carry a reprimand and her empathy shone in her words.

"But do my duty I must, for I was sent to preserve Middle Earth and I will not let it slip into darkness." He did not need to speak of his sorrow at that, at the knowledge he would have to slay one that had been as close as a brother to him. For that was what Saruman had been, what all the Maia had been, brothers. It had been their duty to care and protect and now it was only Radagast and himself left and he could not stop the grief that welled in his soul, that had resided in his soul ever since he had experienced the betrayal, but he could not help but cling to the hope that maybe Saruman could come back, turn away from his darkness and plots.

In his heart he knew the hope was faint, but in this war their defence was built on scraps of hope. Hope that a hobbit could do what all the armies of Middle Earth could not, and the hope that all the blood, all the pain, all the death would not have been endured in vain. It was a fool's hope. But hope was strong, and hope and courage could sustain you through the dark of winter.

He met Galadriel's eyes squarely and he saw his own disquiet and sorrow echoed there, and the unspeakable knowledge of their foe but also there he saw the faint stirrings of hope. Bittersweet hope yes, for the elves knew that even a victory would end their days on Middle Earth, and though the sea-longing burnt bright and fierce in their blood, for many Middle Earth was the only home they had known.

And Gandalf knew too, hope was bittersweet for even if they won, there could not be victory without sacrifice, without pain.

"Elrond spoke of the child." It was an abrupt subject change for those not accustomed to the ways of the elves but Gandalf had spent too many millennia on Middle Earth to be fazed.

"Do you share his reservations then?"

When Galadriel next spoke the barest hints of a reprimand lay in her calm tone, "You know the value of children to us Gandalf, and while I abhor his role here I can see that he has a part to play in this, and the Fellowship is stronger for his presence. He will be needed before the end, though in what role I cannot tell. The path is yet hidden. Just as he is hidden from me."

Her gaze sharpened on him then, and the Istar felt his breath catch at the weight of that gaze, "You may teach him but you will need to learn from him also. It is not chance that he appears on the eve of war, the Valar's mark around his neck and in his presence hope has grown stronger though you still stand on a knife edge. Only a single deviation and you will fall."

"I know." The silence fell then, and Gandalf turned to view the mirror, before raising his gaze to meet the elf lady's. "But I will not despair, not while hope still remains."

A golden head tipped slightly in acknowledgment, and Gandalf returned the gesture before he left the spring, his boots light on the mossy ground.

* * *

Saruman sat on his black throne, his face drawn as he considered the events of the past days. He knew what Gandalf was doing, how could he not when the man had shared his suspicions with him so trustingly? And he knew the Ring drew close but he had no intention of surrendering it to Sauron, no, that power was his and he would wield it until Middle Earth trembled at his feet.

It should have already been in his possession, he was Saruman of Many Colours, the most powerful of the Order and neither hobbit nor Gandalf should have been able to best him and yet he had been beaten back twice, both by Gandalf. It should not happen, it could not be borne. Gandalf was merely of the Grey, no match for his power and yet he had won. It should not be possible, it wasn't possible and yet he had done it.

For a moment he considered the possibility that Gandalf fought alongside another but he dismissed it quickly, Radagast cared not for fighting and none of their brethren had been heard of for an age. But just as he was about to consign the theory to the fires, a sudden thought struck him. He had felt a presence over two months ago, sharp, bright, young presence and it had quickly vanished. He had dismissed it, thinking it of little concern but perhaps it was the answer to the riddle.

There was a child with the Fellowship, a child he had seen little use for and paid little attention to but now his mind fixed on him. Gandalf would not bring a child to war unless there was no other option, he felt far too much compassion for the helpless, so there had to be a reason. What if this boy was the source of this presence? Another wielder would explain why he had been bested but nothing was certain.

He needed information, he needed captives and the ring.

A cruel smirk graced his features and his orders were crisp.

"Bring me the hobbits and the child, unharmed. Kill the others."

* * *

**AN **And here is the next chapter - filler in a sense but there are also some important plot set ups in there, and yes the earlier plot change will have a knock on effect - it doesn't change the geography though - or the original route the fellowship planned on taking!

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it, thanks for all the support and please review!


	14. Chapter 13

_This is the disclaimer. I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and J K Rowling, this writing is purely for pleasure and I get no money out of this whatsoever, now that is out of the way on with the story!_

**Chapter 13**

The paddles made little noise as the boats slipped downstream. The river was fast here in the centre and the boats ran easily on the current as the miles flew quickly beneath the oars turning what would have been nearly a two week journey on the banks into nothing more than a few days. But it was not only the speed with which the boats traveled that the Fellowship were thankful for.

The river here was broad, and dancing along the waves as they were they were far less vulnerable to the dangers that prowled both shores, both eastern and western. They knew that Lothlorien had been the last place they would come to that was yet unmarred by darkness and that by passing onto the Great River they had brought themselves into the easy reach of the first of their enemies, but while they were on the river they were safe, their swift passage allowing them to easily outstrip any creature that attempted pursuit.

But though they were safe in body Elion couldn't help the worry that rose in him, particularly when his thoughts strayed to Frodo. The hobbit had been oddly quiet ever since they had left Lothlorien and more than once Elion had seen his eyes linger on the members of the Fellowship, a desperate sadness there but also a steely resolve. It frightened him. He knew that look, recognised it and the determination behind it for he knew that a similar look had once been present in his own eyes, and he knew precisely what Frodo was doing with each mournful glance.

He was memorising the faces of his friends.

Something had changed in Lothlorien. Elion didn't know what had prompted it, though he knew that the hobbit had been struggling with the burden he was bearing as the quest had continued, but he could see clearly, perhaps most clearly of all of them here what Frodo was planning. Frodo was thinking of leaving them, of completing the quest alone. No, not thinking, Elion mentally corrected, he had already decided, he was merely waiting for an opportunity to leave.

However the knowledge of Frodo's intentions could not answer the question beating in Elion's head, namely why? The Fellowship had agreed to this, had sworn to help and it wasn't as if Frodo was trying to protect them was it? After all, the Fellowship protected him and he couldn't understand why Frodo was going to leave them. He needed to talk to him, and as that resolve hardened in his mind he knew he had the perfect opportunity to do so.

It was still another two days travel before they would reach the Great Waterfall, and Elion was sure that whatever Frodo had decided he would not leave until they had reached that point – without the boats he would be unable to cross the river, so therefore he would be able to speak to Frodo when they made camp that evening. He hoped that even if he couldn't understand, at least before Frodo went he would give him the opportunity to say goodbye to at least one of them properly. He knew how much a goodbye could mean.

He got his opportunity that night, they had been fortunate enough to reach a small island situated in the middle of the river with enough trees to provide both shelter and firewood, as well as supporting a population of rabbits. It was both safe from the creatures prowling the banks but was also populated enough to give them both food and comfort for the night.

Elion had just finished setting the war when he noticed that Frodo had slipped off to get firewood and he quickly followed. The island was small enough that the Company had been quickly able to ascertain that they had no other company except the rabbits and therefore they were not followed. When he judged they were outside hearing distance of the rest of the Fellowship Elion hurried to catch up with Frodo, knowing that the hobbit wouldn't want this conversation overheard.

"Hello Elion," the hobbit said quietly as Elion reached his side and the hobbit smiled at him but Elion noticed it didn't reach his eyes.

Biting his lip Elion wondered how to start but it was the look in Frodo's eyes that provided him with the words he needed.

"You're saying goodbye," he whispered, his emerald eyes locked on Frodo's blue ones.

The hobbit jerked, his eyes widening and he even took half a step backwards before his gaze came to rest on Elion once more. "How do you know?" The murmur was shocked, incredulous, "I was being careful."

Elion smiled sadly, "I've said goodbye too. I recognised it." Tentative fingers reached out, gripping at Frodo's hands, Elion's expression fierce as he tried to comprehend why Frodo was going to leave.

"But I don't understand why." Even to himself his voice sounded plaintive, and Frodo caught it too for his features softened as he looked at the young child.

"The Fellowship protects me Elion," he explained quietly, "But the Ring is forcing it apart and all too soon it will break. It will corrupt them one by one. They cannot protect me from that and I know this task is mine. I have to do it alone, and I will not let the Ring hurt anyone else, and certainly not my friends. This is my task and I will see it done." Determination was strong in Frodo's voice but Elion could also hear the fear in there, and it beat strongly.

"I won't tell anyone," Elion offered quietly and he saw Frodo's eyes widen once more.

"You aren't going to tell anyone?" He questioned, his voice rising in his shock but Elion shook his head immediately.

"That is your choice," he said firmly but then his voice dropped back to a whisper and the hobbit had to strain to hear the next words, "But say goodbye. It won't hurt as much then. For anyone."

For a moment silence hung between them, but the beginnings of tears were growing in Elion's eyes as he thought of all the friends he'd lost, and all the times he had never got to say goodbye and it hurt. He blinked back his tears though when he heard Frodo speak. The hobbit's voice was choked and Elion knew he needed to be there for the hobbit now.

"I will think about it Elion, thank you." There was a long pause and then Frodo spoke again, this time his voice more composed. "When I do leave, if I haven't told them will you tell the others? And ask Aragorn to look after Sam, he won't understand."

Elion nodded, before he impulsively hugged the hobbit, "I will Frodo," he promised earnestly, "And 'till you leave I'll watch and I'll try and help as much as possible." He could see the gratitude in Frodo's eyes as the hobbit returned the hug, and he heard the murmured thank you.

But soon Elion pulled back and grinned a little impishly up at the Ring-Bearer, "The last one to get back to camp with firewood's an orc!" At those words he sprinted off into the copse, quickly grabbing as much wood as possible. He heard Frodo's startled exclamation before the hobbit started to laugh and the competition began in earnest. They were both laughing and out of breath when they returned back to the camp, Frodo having just managed to beat Elion to the fire. But the child didn't really mind for he could see that for the moment the shadows in Frodo's eyes had lifted slightly and a grin was flickering across his features, something that had been conspicuous in its absence for the last few days.

It was therefore with a contented smile that he curled up in his now accustomed place at Aragorn's side and his fingers strayed once more to the amulet at his throat. Galadriel had not given him an individual gift like the rest of the Fellowship save Gandalf, rather she had bent down to his height, pale fingers hovering almost reverently over the shinning metal.

"No gift I could give would be of more worth than what you already wear," she had told him quietly, her voice low and solemn. He had asked her why and a strange expression had crossed her face, a mixture of awe, sorrow, and acceptance and when she had spoken again her words had been cryptic but Elion couldn't stop himself from dwelling on them.

"The Valar's mark can be a burden, for it is not given lightly but within it is a light strong enough that it can withstand the deepest darkness. I can only hope you will not know that darkness."

He didn't understand what she meant, the amulet was just an amulet wasn't it? He hadn't seen any sign of any sort of mysterious powers and it had no magical presence that he could detect. But she had seemed so certain and he knew that his knowledge of this world was lacking, he wasn't even sure what the Valar were, though he was beginning to have a suspicion that the shinning figure he had met when he first arrived here was either a Valar or connected to them somehow. But that didn't stop him from wondering what was so powerful or special about it. The answer he had been given had done nothing but give him more questions.

A frown rose on his face. Did everyone have to speak in riddles? All the elves seemed to speak in riddles, even Legolas did sometimes and he was sick of riddles and questions. He had seen enough in his old world and the riddles and secrets there had cost lives and he trembled at the thought that riddles could cause deaths in Middle Earth too. He had seen too many die already.

A touch on his shoulder broke him out of his thoughts and he raised his eyes he meet concerned blue ones. "Are you alright little one?" Aragorn asked softly.

"Just thinking," he replied quietly and Aragorn smiled gently at him, ruffling ebony hair with one hand and eliciting a squeak of protest from the child and a glare, and the ranger's smiled widened. "Come Elion, you need to eat. You are still far too thin." He held out a calloused hand and obediently Elion took it and allowed Aragorn to lead him over to the fire but his mind soon strayed once again.

Frodo was leaving the company and he was going to travel into danger alone and unprotected. The situation make a frown grow on his face, it wasn't right that Frodo had to bear such a heavy burden with no help but he knew that the hobbit was determined to go alone, and looking at it logically he understood why, eventually the Ring would corrupt the company, Boromir already was coming under its spell. But that didn't stop him from wishing there was something he could do to help, even though he could not go with him.

Suddenly a thought came to him, he had magic and there were several simple spells he could cast that would ease the journey for the hobbit. He wouldn't be able to cast any proper protection spells, he had no materials to make anchors and protective spells would not last longer than twenty four hours without being renewed if they did not have anchors but that didn't mean that he couldn't cast some simpler, long lasting charms that would help Frodo.

He bit his lip as he considered his options, there were a variety of charms he could cast on specific objects that would last for a long time. Mentally he began to list them, he could cast a spell to ensure the waterskin never ran out, cast heating charms on the blankets, enchant a small piece of iron to always point north, enchant another piece to glow when a specific word was spoken. It seemed woefully inadequate but Elion knew that it would ease the journey in the wilderness and there was little else he could offer with his limited resources.

Muffling a yawn with one hand he snuggled a little closer to Aragorn's side, tucked under a protective arm as he considered the best time to enchant the objects. After a moment he came to the conclusion it would be easiest to do so on the boat tomorrow, it would be another two days travel until they reached the waterfall, and if he did it on the boat, he would be able to give the items straight back to Frodo and recover his energy overnight. Decision made he let his tiredness overtake his senses and he drifted to sleep to the sound of quiet conversations and the crackling of the fire.

They reached the great lake around mid afternoon two days later. Elion had managed to cast all the spells he had wanted to on Frodo's equipment and he had told the hobbit precisely what the spells would do. It had been easier than he thought to enchant the objects without anyone noticing, not even Gandalf. The sound of the oars and the water against the hull had quite effectively masked the soft incantations and under Gandalf's tutelage he had become very adept at masking his own magic – his staff was a different matter but for this he hadn't needed it.

It relieved him to know that Frodo had at least the meagre help he could provide. He wished it was possible that Frodo wouldn't have to go alone but he recognised that the Ring was already beginning to corrupt the Fellowship, he already watched Boromir and he knew the longer the Ring remained in the company, the more the members would fall under its spell and the list of people he was watching would grow until eventually he could watch them all no longer and they would be betrayed.

No, it was the only hope for Middle Earth that Frodo left the Fellowship but that didn't mean he had to like it.

It was his increased awareness that the time Frodo had here was slipping away quickly that led him to the hobbit's side when they landed. The time they had left was precious and he did not intend to waste a single moment. Frodo was rather startled when Elion pressed him for stories of the Shire but after a moment understanding dawned in his eyes and once a fire was crackling away the hobbit gladly sat down and began to weave a tale about his adventures as a child in the Shire, quickly being joined by the rest of the hobbits.

But even as Elion was absorbed into the story he noticed that Frodo's eyes held both a sparkle and a sorrow as he spoke, and he could see the traces of gratitude in his face. The hobbit too was aware of how precious these moments were.

The peace was shattered in the next instant.

The raw throated cry of a Urak horn blared out from beneath the trees and in an instant the company were on their feet, weapons sliding out of scabbards, bright steel glinting in the afternoon sun. "They're at the crest of the hill," Aragorn's voice was bleak and his eyes swept across the Fellowship. "Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Elion, hide and whatever you do, do not let them get close."

The command was obvious and they did nothing more than nod their understanding and obedience even as Aragorn turned to the rest of the Fellowship. "Split up, draw them away from the shore." Blue eyes bore into the warriors and the command in Aragorn's voice was sharp, and Elion could see the part of Aragorn that was a leader and a King. But he pushed the thought away the next second, drawing his magic to the surface and tensing his muscles as he plunged into the foliage after Sam and Frodo. He knew they had few weapons that would last against the Urak-hai and he was determined to protect his friends with everything he had.

He watched as Frodo vanished into a thick bush, pushed there by Sam, before the hobbit vanished a little further up the hill and Elion quickly scurried up a nearby tree, concealing himself in the thick foliage of the leaves, but where he could watch over the hobbits and cast without any threat to them.

The clash of steel on steel echoed through the forest, interspersed with cries of pain and the awful sounds of death. All other sounds in the forest had quieted, the birds and creatures driven away by the blood lust and the battle raging on the slopes. It made it all too easy to hear it. To hear the thud of a falling body and hear the thunder of feet pounding against baked earth. To hear the sound of battle and know that the enemies were only pressing closer.

There was a sudden shout and the first of the Urak's burst through the trees in front of them, and Elion bit back on the curse that was about to leave his lips. They had not yet been spotted and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware that if he cast now he would do nothing but alert them to their position, but at the same time he knew that they would not remain hidden for long. There were too many of them and their hiding places were not good enough.

But before Elion could do anything he watched as Merry and Pippin suddenly burst out of the undergrowth where they had been lying, shouting and calling out to the Urak's. Elion watched in amazement as the Urak's stopped running and in the next instant Merry and Pippin were fleeing, the Urak's following them. Leaving Frodo safe. But in the next instant Frodo slipped out of the bushes and started running, his feet almost noiseless as he sped down the slope and back towards the boats.

Instinctively Elion knew that Frodo had made his choice. He could do no more for his friend that to give him time, time to escape. Frodo was no longer his to protect but Merry and Pippin were out in the forest, with only their short daggers and incapable of defending against the sheer number of Urak-hai. They needed him more than Frodo and he was not going to let anyone die. Not when he could prevent it.

As quietly as possible he clambered down the tree trunk, running quickly between patches of cover as he flew in the direction he had seen Merry and Pippin run. The sounds of the battle were becoming louder, but Elion ignored them, his senses already narrowing, becoming focussed as adrenalin surged through his body, his magic tingling against his palm.

He stumbled suddenly, breaking his focus and he glanced down, his hands instinctively going out to support him. Bile rose up his throat and he staggered away, breath coming in gasps even as he yanked his foot away from the sprawled limbs of the dead Urak-hai which had tripped him, black blood staining his boot. Gritting his teeth he tried to push the revulsion back. He had seen death before, seen awful things in the War but wizards did not fight with swords, death was silent and quick, not the slow agony of lifeblood seeping into the soil from a long jagged cut.

He forced himself to continue on. The Urak didn't deserve sympathy, it was a monster, a creature with no compassion, humanity or kindness within it, and its death meant that there was one less enemy to kill them, a larger chance that his friends were still alive. That thought spurred him on, allowed him to push the image of the corpse from his mind. He would not let Merry and Pippin be killed when he could help.

There was clash of metal and the sound of thundering feet. He spun round to see a group of Urak's burst through the trees, Boromir chasing them, his sword flashing in the afternoon light. Instinctively he shrunk back against the tree trunk, pressing his back to it but it was no use. A hoarse guttural cry echoed from an Urak-hai's throat and as black eyes found his Elion knew he had been spotted. He snapped out a spell, not looking to see if it hit its mark before he turned and ran.

* * *

They were hard pressed. Their swords swung in glittering arcs, and more than one Urak-hai had perished as they were slain quickly by an arrow. Blood and death melded together in an unholy storm of destruction and pain. There was nothing but blow and counter-strike, the world narrowed into a dizzying field of blacks and reds, accompanied throughout by the stench of blood and death and the moans and cries of the dying.

The ground beneath their feet was uneven and streaked with blood and not one of the warriors there could tell you how long they had been fighting for. Weariness hung on their limbs, and blood dripped from the wounds that scattered their bodies but not one of them could contemplate faltering. They fought with everything they had because they could not fail, they would not allow themselves to fail, for not only was it their duty, the fate of Middle Earth resting on their actions, they had also come to care for the hobbits and child under their protection and they would not see them hurt.

Determination and desperation gave them strength and though they were vastly outnumbered their skill was far greater than that of the Urak-hai. Aragorn fought with a maelstrom of controlled fury, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he threw his entire being into the task of protecting the hobbits and child that had so quickly wormed his way into his heart. Between the bite of the swords, to the blows of an ax, the slice of arrows and the devastation of magic the Urak's were being forced away, beaten back and it was into this volatile situation that magic poured.

Twisted, dark, malevolent, it pushed away the sunlight, grasping fingers that sent dread into hearts and seemed to leech all goodness from the air. For a moment the fight faltered then one by one the faces of the company hardened in determination and it was into the sudden silence that Gandalf's voice cracked out, sharper than a whip. "This is a foe you cannot fight. Protect the hobbits! Go!"

Aragorn had just started to turn, Legolas and Gimli with him, when a scream split the air, accompanied a second later by the brazen call of the Horn of Gondor.

* * *

Elion felt the presence the instant it appeared. Immediately thoughts of Merry and Pippin fled from his mind, even the danger of the Urak-hai behind him left him as adrenalin surged through his body, accompanied by a flare of recognition. He knew this presence, knew it was magical and he knew with a certainty that he could not deny that it was stronger than Gandalf. It was the same vile magic that had assailed them before, and he knew that it would kill them if it could.

But he was too far from Gandalf, and he had no idea where on this hillside the Istar was, or indeed if he still lived. It was up to him to protect himself, but more importantly to protect his friends. A peripheral part of his vision was aware that Boromir was nearby, fighting the surrounding Urak-hai with all his strength but that was dismissed as unimportant as his being focussed on the magic thrumming through him.

He knew without being told that this was not something he could fight off with his own power, for this he would need his staff and the strength it could lend to his casting. With trembling fingers he unhooked it from his belt but he didn't, couldn't allow his doubts to overcome him. He would be strong enough, the magic would work, it had to, even though he did not know what he was doing he was not going to be responsible for another death.

His fear and anger and determination swelled within him, bearing a rising tide of power and strength. He did not know any of the incantations Gandalf used, did not know how to attack the magic, the presence but he had to believe. Miracles had saved him before, lent him the strength to do incredible feats though in the end it had not been enough.

Gritting his teeth he forced the thought back. He could not concentrate on his failures now, not now, not when he was needed. With a cry of desperation, pain and anguish he let the magic go, letting it surge out of him, pushing against the cloying darkness and the searching, twisting power.

The magic jerked back, and then pushed forward once again, pummelling and writhing as it searched for any weakness, anything it could twist and exploit and Elion felt himself being pushed back, being overwhelmed.

Pain exploded in the base of his skull.

His vision dimmed, blackness crawling across in feathered tendrils.

A gasp as the magic slipped from his control, a staff falling from suddenly nerveless fingers.

No, it wasn't right. He had to protect, he couldn't fail. His thoughts were confused, muddled but just as his grip on his magic vanished he felt a second presence pushing against the blackness and the groping tendrils being pushed back.

There was air beneath his feet, he was swaying alarmingly and his limbs would not respond.

There were hands against him, rough, not kind or gentle like Aragorn's. And they hurt. But he did not have breath left to scream.

An anguished cry was the last thing Elion heard before the blackness won.

* * *

**AN: I should probably apologise for that cliffhanger, but I think I will just say that I felt like being evil! Hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway, I'll see you in two weeks and please review!**


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